Chasing Darkness
by Astridhe
Summary: The price of power is often incalculably high, but rarely does it seem so at the beginning. Valyne Duskryn follows a road that is dark and winding-the only route to freedom.
1. Without Secrets

Glass shattered against a stone wall, ruby colored wine splashing to the floor along with the fine fragments. "This foolishness has gone on long enough! I am responsible for her, not you, and I will not have you dictating to me how I should handle it!" Lirayne snarled in a fury, her glare directed at her older sister.

On the other side of the door, listening in and watching through a crack, Val winced slightly and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself for comfort. She was a rawboned child, wiry by build and average in height with eyes like polished steel. But she wanted to know how much more her aching, beaten back was in for.

The noble daughters of House Duskryn were oft remarked upon as studies in contrast. Valyne was the youngest and current point of contention, unremarkable in her childhood save for her usual muteness and frequent disputes with her erstwhile wean-mother. Lirayne (who had been saddled with that odious duty) was almost completely made of a fiery temper held in check only by external authority-second in birth and forever second in her mother's eyes. Zesstra was better known as the dangerous one, the eldest: thoughtful, cautious, humble, and ever useful to those around her. Hers was a precarious place with her mother stepping down on her hands lest she try to climb up and take the throne, and her siblings pulling to bring her down. Frightful intellect hidden behind pleasantries and dutiful obedience was the only thing that kept her on top.

And Lirayne knew that conversation was a battleground she could never win against her sister. Even devils might sign away their souls to the charming but invariably inscrutable priestess sitting in front of her with chin resting in a cupped palm. "This morning, she stumbled through every verse of a daily devotion, which I've heard her recite picture perfect before. The Goddess's names were mangled!" Lirayne snapped, knowing she was starting to sound foolish but powerless to stop her words.

Zesstra chuckled, flint eyes full of a mirth that seemed terribly wholesome for a drowess-people were laughed with by the priestess, not at. It put them terribly off balance, a feeling Lirayne despised more than wounded pride. "As I can imagine. The poor thing is terrified of earning a beating, and that makes her stammer. And you responded to this how?"

"A lash for every word she'd butchered," Lirayne said, leaning back and running her fingers over her snake whip. It was easily her favorite weapon, and many had learned to fear it-male drow, servants, pedestrians in her way on the street, and now the youngest child. "Without teeth. I'm not unreasonable."

"Your restraint does you credit, sister," Zesstra said. Her face was softly angular, lips full and now pursed a little as she considered the situation.

"How else will she learn?" Lirayne snapped defensively, always suspicious that Zesstra was having a joke at her expense.

"I find she remembers instruction better with simple firmness and directness. A few stern words do as much, if not more than that whip. But then again, that is an area where I think we must agree to disagree," the elder priestess said smoothly. "You're at your best in the field, Lirayne. Spiteful, confident to nigh arrogance, ferocious, and quite cunning. But the delicate and subtle still elude you."

"Well, I yield the floor to you, silver-tongue," Lirayne muttered. She was still wearing her armor from patrol and she would be the first to admit that she did much prefer battle to anything at home except maybe visiting the Arena. If she couldn't engage in combat, she sated her destructive nature by watching others fight. "Shall we see what corner she's skulked into?"

"I suppose that's for the best."

Val knew a warning when she heard one, and shot up. She raced barefoot down the hall without looking back, rounding a few corners and landing back at the candlestick she was supposed to be cleaning near altar in her family's chapel of Lloth. She snatched up the foul-smelling polish and rag, scrubbing away with fierce intent.

It was only moments later when her sisters entered. Lirayne fired the first salvo. "I see you can do something you're told," she said scornfully.

"I'll handle her for the day, sister. Go," Zesstra said with a wave of her hand. "Get some sparring in."

Lirayne wasted no time, leaving the two alone in the chapel. Val frowned intently and continued her ferocious scrubbing.

"I know you were listening," Zesstra said with a hint of a smile, sitting down on the steps leading up to the altar. "Do you remember the words to the morning devotion?"

"Yes," Val said quietly.

"Good."

There was a long pause and Val slowly finished her task, then settled down next to Zesstra on the steps. "She's going to find out," the girl said quietly, looking down at the steps as she held her hands together. "It's getting stronger."

"Magic is magic, Valyne," Zesstra said calmly, taking her youngest sister's small hand and holding it palm up. "Perhaps no one else sees it, but it is still a gift."

Frost began to creep out across the surface of Valyne's palm involuntarily, and then she clenched her hand into a tight fist. She looked at the priestess with eyes old beyond her years. "You only say that because you want me to like you, so I'll help you become Matron," she said skeptically. "Mourndar told me. He also said I'd have been better off dead than what I am."

Zesstra rolled her eyes. "He is an ass these days, isn't he? Ah, youth. You've learned not to trust. A fine start. But tell me, if all that is true, what are you going to do about it?"

"Be better than Mourndar," Val said firmly, sweeping her ivory hair back out of her face. It was already growing thick and long since the first fireball incident. She'd concealed it by pretending that she'd decided to lop off her own hair one evening. "He has to pour over books just to cast a wisp of flame. I don't."

Her older sister's laughter was musical, soft and pleasant in the still chapel air. "I see Lirayne's lessons have made something of an impact despite what she claims."

"I'm not a fool," Val said, hugging her knees to her chest as she listened.

"But if you're bright, you'll pretend to be," Zesstra said with a gleam in her flint eyes. "You want to live a long life, Valyne? Stammer through your devotions. Be mute in front of the Matron. Struggle with books and hide your true gift. Be harmless, and people will ignore you. That ignorance is power."

"You do that," the girl said critically, examining her older sister closely. She had learned to be quiet, to listen, to be unseen. She knew that cruelty was not beyond the scope of Zesstra's capabilities. The same woman famous for her disarming charm and thoughtful, almost passive approach was responsible for extortion, espionage, framings, abduction, and murder. It confused her, yes, but she hadn't lived this long by disbelieving what was right in front of her.

"Different steps, but the same song and dance, yes." Footsteps approaching cut off their conversation and Zesstra quickly stood. "That will be the Matron. I imagine Mourndar surrendered your little secret. Failed your tests for divine casting, did you?"

"Am I going to die?" Val asked softly.

"No. But you will wish you had for some time," Zesstra said. Blunt honesty was sometimes required.

The doors flung open explosively and the Matron stalked in, dragging their brother. Her snake whip was curled around his throat, just tight enough to choke him but never enough for him to pass out. "You knew," Matron Siniira said flatly as her eyes focused on her eldest. She flicked her wrist, uncoiling the whip from her son's throat. "And you concealed this from me?"

"I thought Mourndar had told you. It seemed better that it was broached by House Wizard," the priestess said smoothly, clasping her hands behind her back. To the side, Val stood with a rigid fear.

"Do you comprehend what manner of affront it is to have a daughter who dabbles in the magic of males?" Siniira snarled fiercely. Her heel found Mourndar's kidney and pressed threateningly. "Why did you say nothing, male?"

"Perhaps because he foresaw your reaction being this?" Zesstra redirected gently. Had it been anyone else, Siniira might have lashed out. But while she had always been described as having the maternal instincts of a punching dagger, the Matron of House Duskryn had a fondness for her eldest that exceeded normal expectations.

"If she cannot be a priestess, she is no more valuable to me than a male, and we already have a House Wizard," the Matron said instead, full lips thinning into a flat line that spoke of displeasure. She looked down at Mourndar. "As worthless as he is."

"Then let her pursue it. Send her to Sorcere when she's of the right age. What have we to lose? She will either die or become useful," Zesstra said. Her motives were less than altruistic, of course-Mourndar had not shown his talent so early. A talented mage would still keep Lirayne's attention focused firmly downward."

"There is...merit to your suggestion," Siniira said grudgingly. "But Sorcere is no small investment, and I do not place bets I am liable to lose. Tell Lirayne to redouble her efforts. I do not care what is broken."

Val remained rooted to the spot even after the Matron left. It was her first day in a life without hiding what she was, though she did not know precisely what that meant.


	2. Friends in Low Places

**Author's Note: **A gigantic thank you to the lovely people who have reviewed this story and others. I really appreciate hearing from you and it makes it far easier to keep writing these projects.

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Years passed, and Valyne spent most of that time alone with her books. Mourndar had grudgingly extended her the courtesy of temporary tolerance that had grown more permanent every month that went by. His library-or more particularly, the House library-was a haven from the casual cruelty of Lirayne, the machinations of Zesstra, and the caution focused on her from all sides. No one really seemed to know how to deal with her, but magic or not she was still the Matron's daughter and thus free from the contempt of most.

But people would avoid talking to her, spending time near her, becoming her friend. Girls found little in common with her as most were focused on becoming priestesses or warriors. And boys, while they did share her fascination of the arcane, were constantly lectured that all females were above them. It made for a lonely and quiet time at the House.

It felt like she'd been stranded in the middle of a storming sea without anything but what she could hold in a hand. Or how she imagined the sea would be, anyway. From some of the tales Mourndar left littered about in his study when he thought she was gone, it sounded quite frightening. And also full of seductive undines who had a habit of losing their clothing, apparently. Someone had clearly leafed often to the raunchy parts.

"Will you stop with the page flipping?" Mourndar snapped, slamming his fist on the desk. The amulets he was enchanting rattled across the top and then came to a rest.

"A moment ago you were complaining about the silence. What do you want from me?" Val shot back without looking up from the pages.

Her sorcery came from a taint of the Abyss in her blood. She was certain thanks to Mourndar's powers of magical detection, despite a lack of obviously demonic features in her angular face and steel-colored eyes. Instead, she'd been cursed to have her mother's soft, almost faerie-like angles to her face and the characteristic full lips of her family. The gray eyes were another legacy, one that sometimes she wished she could be rid of. They seemed boring compared to the shades of red and green and gold that she had seen in other drow-Mourndar had even told her of one with lavender eyes, but in a hushed tone that meant it was something less than good.

"Aren't you supposed to be doing your combat training?" Mourndar muttered darkly, turning back to his work.

"Not for another three months. You're supposed to be training me," she said pointedly. He didn't generally win their conversations now that she was into adolescence and it infuriated him. Granted, she was quiet and nonjudgmental more often than Lirayne...but that was a notoriously low bar.

He picked a text off his desk and tossed it at her. Val dropped her book into her lap and caught the incoming one with a groan. It had heft as well as inertia. "What is this?"

"A summoning manual. Work on it instead of bothering me. You can use the foyer."

Val rolled her eyes and tucked the book under her arm. "Fine." She stepped out into the entryway with its smooth flagstone floor and set the book down, open to the page it had flipped to. There were protective markings, wardings, and sigils to be used as summoned creatures, particularly demons with their chaotic bent and often violent nature, could be dangerous. Her first encounter with an imp had left her nursing a nasty sting to her thigh and scratches up both arms. It was not something she intended to repeat.

She picked up a few stray pieces of chalk and set to work, drawing the complex pentagrams and powerful symbols used to keep summoned creatures under control. She didn't really know what she should call forth. The book had many suggestions of course, but at the moment she preferred something that would at least be somewhat conversational. Or an imp again, she supposed. If she knew how to get the same one, she would call it forth and then freeze the little bastard for the pain it'd caused last time.

Devils hated her almost on instinct, and Val had to admit that the feeling was somewhat mutual. Something about the smell of brimstone, their arrogant rigidity, their disdain irritated her. Demons had been far more satisfying and educational...an abyssal kinship speaking? How fortunate that Lloth's realms were in the Abyss and not the Hells-the affinity was valuable.

She let the book lie near her feet as she stood and cast, not bothering to even read the words of power. Instead she closed her gray eyes and focused. Her hands started to tingle with power as the well of magic in her blood surged upward. With a subtle gesture-she had never shared Mourndar's ostentatious waving and shouting-she briefly parted the veil between planes, allowing something through. She smelled for a moment a layer of the Abyss, a dark and heavy perfume that lingered tantalizingly in the air.

"I thought you would look more like him. Fortunate that you don't," a voice of shadow and honey said softly.

Val opened her eyes. A succubus, judging by the perfect features, voluptuous figure, and bat wings. The demon's skin was pale like alabaster, hair the color of flame. Small horns protruded from her forehead and her black, claw-like nails were carefully manicured. A hint of amusement touched her lips. The eyes were a blank white from corner to corner. Val was fascinated, but quick to regain herself. "It looks like you threw something on and nearly missed," she said skeptically, crossing her arms. "Who's this 'him'?"

The succubus stretched luxuriously, now smiling fully. "I like you. Quick on your feet. And, since you asked and I am your guest, I meant your father."

"I...don't know how to respond to that," Val admitted. She'd always assumed that the Patron was her father, but no demon would know him. Perhaps he was a mage caught up in some tryst with the Matron. That made sense. Arcane magic did not run in the Matron's bloodline nor the Patron's-Mourndar had slaved over books to achieve his current level of skill.

"An honest drow?" The succubus's laugh was musical. "Oh, the fun we'll have together, sweet thing. I am Malcanthet, at your service."

"You are very cooperative, even for a demon. Not a single threat yet," Val noted.

"Your father and I go back a very, very long ways, sweet thing," Malcanthet said, flexing a wing. She was trapped in the confines of the summoning circle, but didn't really seem unhappy with the confinement.

"And who exactly is my father?" Now her always inquiring mind was curious. Obviously, she told herself, it didn't matter. Drow traced their lineage through their mother. But a part of her wondered what kind of man her father was, whether he would have been proud to know she carried his gift of magic. The idea of someone looking at her with that kind of fondness, as the Patron sometimes gazed at Lirayne when they sparred together...it conjured up a warmth in her chest, foolish as she knew it was.

"Now that'd be telling, sweet thing," the succubus said with a wink. "So you've called me, but I find myself curious as to why."

"I'm still in training as a mage," Val said. She doubted pressing the succubus would accomplish anything. "My brother told me to practice since I'm not off learning how to fight. He's not a great teacher."

Malcanthet smiled and crossed her arms. "I could teach you a great deal, sweet thing. Should you wish to learn, that is."

Val raised an eyebrow. "And let you out of the circle? You know that if I do that, I'll still have power over you. I summoned you, I can banish you."

"I'm well aware. Shall I consider you my new pupil? I have no intention of harming you, sweet thing."

"And why is that?" Val asked, kneeling down and brushing a gap in the chalk with one hand. The succubus stepped through and stretched her wings out with a sigh of pleasure.

Malcanthet's smile was inscrutable as only a demon's could be. "Let's just say I'm invested in your future."


	3. The First Test

Val didn't jump when pale, clawed hands covered her eyes even though she hated having someone behind her. "Guess who," the familiar voice purred in her ear.

"Malcanthet, you know I hate it when you do that," the young drow said almost petulantly, swatting the hands away. But there was a good natured warmth beneath the protest. In the demon, she had found something she never expected-a friend. Of course, their meetings had been kept out of the eyes of the rest of the house because fraternization with a summoned creature, particularly a demon with considerable powers over the mind, was hardly smiled upon. But the succubus had proved an able teacher and a reassuring confidante.

Val felt freer with the demon than she did with other drow. After all, if Malcanthet wanted to hurt her, the succubus had more than enough capability. Instead the abyssal creature had brought the young drow's talent for dark magic to light and nurtured the gift with careful instruction. The demon had also been teaching her how to fight.

"You see the Weapon Master today, don't you?" Malcanthet said pleasantly, sitting down beside her charge and wrapping a leathery wing around Val's shoulders. "You seem nervous."

"He hates mages. Everyone knows that," Val admitted, accepting the touch for the reassurance it was. The succubus could get away with it while she shied away from that of others.

"You are stronger than you were before. Fight as if he means to kill you...for perhaps he does. In this place and beyond its walls, you must always prepare to face the worst in every confrontation. On the battlefield or not," the succubus advised.

Val pursed her lips and nodded. It was true that her body was changing. Before she had been waifish, reedy-now muscle had developed, though her frame was still slight. It was not just the exhausting physical training that Malcanthat put her through, either. Her body responded to the dark magics as if drawing strength from them. She found when she had been practicing that pain troubled her less and her endurance was markedly greater.

Not only that, but she excelled and it thrilled her. She was exceeding even Malcanthet's expectations, bending the dark powers of the Abyss to her whim. Spells that would take a wizard's full concentration and even then exhaust them came easily to her. Zesstra and Lirayne had both marked a change in her, even if they couldn't identify what it was or what it meant.

"I would not be were it not for your instruction," she said finally, standing. Her demonic companion seemed to preen at the compliment. Vanity was perhaps the succubus's greatest weakness. Malcanthat never tired of flattery. "He's expecting me soon."

"Remember, you are your father's child. Deep in you, you have his power," Malcanthat said with a smile. "Never let anyone persuade you otherwise, not the Weapon Master, not the Matron. No one."

"You've never told me what he was to you," Val said softly. "You treat me so well, and I cannot imagine why."

"I have many enemies, sweet thing, but your father was not among them. Often he would summon me to his side after unpleasant confrontations. He confided in me as you do now. We were even lovers for a time. My charm, no doubt," Malcanthat said with a flutter of her eyelashes.

"And how did he meet the Matron, if he was with you?" Val worried her lower lip between her teeth like she always did when she thought.

"It was after that," Malcanthat said with a wave. "Your father was never overfond of Lloth. He attended a rite only once, and that was where he met your mother. Only one little tryst, and they parted. But enough to conceive you. I don't believe, however, that the Matron even remembers him. And your sister continues her habit of approaching when she is unwanted, I see. She's almost here."

Valyne murmured the words under her breath, banishing Malcanthet with a hurried cast. And not a moment too soon: Lirayne threw the door open with a bang denoting her temper. "I told you to be ready nearly an hour ago. What in the Demonweb takes you so damn long?" Lirayne snarled, kicking the door shut viciously with her heel.

"I am ready, sister," Valyne said, lowering her gaze to the floor. She hated having to always submit, but survival instincts counseled her to remain the dutiful younger sibling at least until she was away at the Academy. Her relationship with Lirayne was as rocky as ever, though they did get on better now that she wasn't seeing the fiery priestess every waking moment.

"You'd better be. And keep your mouth shut if we run into the Matron. The last thing I need is you giving her lip. She's already displeased enough." With that, Lirayne lead the way down towards the training area, striding at a clip that nearly made her younger sister jog to keep up.

"What happened?" Val asked quietly. She was always more subdued around her siblings.

"One of the other Matrons got the better of her somehow. Zesstra said it has to do with why we lost a mithril mine to House Xorlarrin," Lirayne said casually, slowing as they reached the doorway. "Now, if you fail, the Matron might well let Zekatar gut you. Try to at least pretend you're useful for her sake. It's been a foul enough day."

"You always know just what to say to a girl," Valyne said dryly before stepping in. The small snip at Lirayne allowed her to keep up a front of bravado and ignore her nerves. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Be afraid, Malcanthet had told her once as she faced down a lesser devil as part of her training, but not frozen.

Zekatar, the grim and scarred Weapon Master of House Duskryn (usually referred to as 'the Dragon') was waiting for her, tall form heavy with sheets of stony muscle. He prowled back and forth, clawed gauntlet on one hand while a heavy spiked chain of pitted, dull adamantite dangled from the other like a children's toy. Suddenly this was beginning to look like what Val thought of as a Very Bad Idea.

He meant to kill her. He hated mages. That was reason enough. Particularly since she wasn't his daughter. Hell, the fact that he was Zekatar's son was the only thing that had allowed Mourndar to live to adulthood. Val took a deep breath, calming herself and slowing her racing heart. Panic wouldn't save her.

"About time," Zekatar said in a voice like the growl of stone against stone. He grabbed an old, battered staff from the wall and hurled it at her feet. "No magic. That's the only rule."

_A stick. I have a stick_, Val thought, picking the sorry weapon up. Still, it was better than nothing, right? As soon as she looked up, she realized that Zekatar was coming right at her with his spiked chain in a surprise attack. She hurled herself to one side in a desperate escape, remembering to tuck and roll. His clawed gauntlet tore the fabric at the back of her shoulder-blades, but didn't so much as graze flesh.

She shot up onto her feet like the hounds of hell were after her and spun around, using the staff to whack the chain away and then abruptly pulling it back towards her so that he couldn't entangle it. It wasn't much of a fight with her dodging furiously while he roared and gave chase.

"Fight, coward!" he snarled, lashing out.

The chain connected, spikes tearing into the flesh of her arm as it wrapped around the limb. Val felt a surge of anger. _I am not a coward!_ She grabbed the chain with it tangled around her bleeding arm, ignoring the pain of the spikes, and yanked as hard as she could. He lurched forward off balance, but lashed out with his clawed gauntlet.

Valyne dropped the staff and hit the ground on one knee to narrowly avoid having her face torn open. The copper smell of blood was everywhere. It made her veins burn with hidden power, the same gift that fueled her magic. Zekatar was not frightening, he was slow. She snarled in his face and lashed out with her fingernails like Malcanthet did with her claws, earning a hiss from the grizzled warrior. He flinched back, trying to shield his vulnerable eyes. But she had hold of the spiked chain still.

He gave the flexible weapon a savage jerk, making the spikes tear at her arm again. Black spots appeared in Val's vision and she almost fell. Instead, she grabbed the chain with both hands and tugged hard, pulling it from his grip with a strength beyond that of a thin mage's. Then she whipped it just as she had seen Zesstra do so many times with a snake whip, curling it around Zekatar's throat. If she tightened it, it would be far more fatal than the mangling to her arm.

The only reason she had won-and Val would be the first to admit it-was that he had underestimated her and been surprised. If he'd expected her to have any strength at all, she would have been dead in the first minute. But looking at the spikes pressing into the soft flesh of his throat, she felt elated and even proud. She hadn't failed. Not yet, anyway.

"Release him," the Matron said sternly from behind her.

Val immediately dropped the chain and jumped away from him in case he planned any retribution. She took off her outer shirt and wrapped it around her bloodied arm, holding it tightly to her chest. And only then did she dare look in her mother's direction, knowing the disapproval would only be more intense.

Except, ever so faintly, Siniira was smiling. "So you do have some fire in you after all," the Matron said. "Zekatar thought not, but we can see how well that served him. Come here."

Like a wary wildcat, Val crept closer with suspicious eyes and muscles tensed to flee at any moment. But instead of lashing out in a fury, the Matron took hold of the wounded arm and cast a powerful spell. Before their eyes, flesh mended and skin regrew until not even a scar remained. It was less painful than any previous healing the girl had ever had-a faint tug, and that was all.

"Have I passed my test?" Val asked quietly when the spell was finished, gray eyes still checking and double checking various escape routes if she might need them.

"Zekatar?" the Matron asked casually.

The male drow rose, massaging his throat as he looked at the girl with a plainly evident dislike. "She has," he said, sounding disgusted with the idea. "I will train her enough that Sorcere will not find her wholly useless."

"Why do I not feel better about this?" Val muttered under her breath as she eyed her new instructor with equal dislike. Perhaps she had been too charitable when she'd argued that Mourndar shouldn't smother the Weapon Master in his sleep. Her future until Sorcere was not looking bright.


	4. A Matron's Daughter

**Author's Note:** Sorry these are becoming habit, but I have an excuse! I wanted to give thanks/a shout out to Rachel who worked on an awesome piece of art and pretty much grabbed how I imagined Malcanthet. Makes a gal feel good about her writing.

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Val knew that her body was about to give up, but she kept her shoulder braced against the stone and pushed with her legs anyway. Between 'lessons' that were more like methodical beatings, Zekatar set tasks for her to be completed from the moment she woke to the moment she collapsed into bed. There was never a spare moment to practice magic or even rest.

Her muscles were all stretched tight and burning with constant exertion, knotted from back-breaking exercise. But the boulder had to be moved without magic-it was a test, he'd said. Her lungs heaved again, sucking in a breath in a harsh hiss as she gritted her teeth. But it was starting to give, to tip ever so slightly.

"Come on, you son of an _elg'caress_," she panted, ignoring the scrape of the stone at the swollen and bruised flesh of her shoulder. It was a souvenir of the earlier scrap she'd had with the grim male. She tried to press further into it, but her foot slipped. The rough surface of the boulder tore up her back through her shirt as her legs gave way and she sank to the floor.

"You have not completed the task, I see," Zekatar noted, stepping in. The powerfully built drow crossed his arms in displeasure.

Val wanted to snap that it was impossible, but knew the male would only derive satisfaction from her despair. Instead, muscles screaming in protest, she got up to her feet. Her hands were bleeding from the little ridges on the stone that were like sandpaper against flesh, but she was doing her best to ignore it. She was a drow-that meant she had to be strong. Instead, she braced her body against the stone and crouched low, using her legs to push again.

"Why do you persist, I wonder?" the Weapon Master said, prowling in a circle. "You are weak. You have always been weak. If you simply surrendered to your fate and allowed yourself to be swept aside, the House would progress."

"Because I'm a mage?" she said with a hint of a growl, voice cracked and dry with thirst. But stubbornly, she kept to her task.

"The Matron sees a pipe dream in you," he said, ignoring her comment. "A fire that reminds her of herself. Something that Lirayne and Zesstra do not have. But my children are stronger than you. Better than you."

The surface of the rock bit deeper into her back as she pushed herself harder against it. Her jaw was clenched tightly, her stomach knotted with a hot feeling she did not recognize. She wanted to abandon her task and hurl her breaking body at him. Was this hatred? It felt more powerful than the hopelessness she had first felt looking at her task. "I will kill you," she hissed out, realizing that for the first time she meant it. He was cruel and unfair. He didn't only expect her to fail. He was also setting her up to. Maybe if she had been allowed to rest and massage life back into her muscles she could have moved the stone. But now? It was a fool's errand designed to make her give up.

"You do not belong at the Academies. You do not belong in this House."

"I am a Matron's daughter and you will never speak that way to me again!" Valyne snarled. She had heard Lirayne bark that once at a soldier, and it seemed fitting now. She felt the magic in her blood start to rise and, perhaps out of spite for him and his disdain, opened herself to it. She could taste the dark, sweet air of the Abyss. Her fingers dug into crevices in the stone, giving her an added purchase as she slammed herself against the rock like an enraged beast.

The smirk on Zekatar's face vanished as he watched her struggle change to something else. He took a step back away from her. Something was wrong with her eyes. The pupils seemed wrong, narrowing like a cat's.

She could still absolutely feel the agonizing pain, but now for a moment she reveled in it even as she pushed on. Her body was straining at its limit and then some, but it was a marvel that it maintained. Behind her, the rock creaked and started to lean again. Just another moment or two and she could tip it beyond that point of balance, send it crashing to the floor.

Val heaved through the red mists of pain and the black edges of her vision, toppling the stone. Her body gave, crumpling on the stone as her head spun and she struggled to breathe. But she had done it! She kept her eyes focused on Zekatar in a baleful glare as her muscles twitched and trembled uselessly, silently promising that someday she would make him regret this.

Instead of speaking, the male looked shaken and retreated back through the doorway he had come through.

She lay there for what felt like days, burning face against the cool, rough stone. But then finally she was rested enough to get up and hobble down to the baths. The hot water burned and stung her scrapes, but felt perfectly wonderful on her tortured muscles. She took off her clothes after she'd slid into the water, tossing them up to the side.

Val tried to rub out the knots that she could reach, but even that was nearly impossible with how deep they ran. For the most part she just lay uselessly in the water and soaked in the warmth. Her training had been going like this for more than a month and she had no idea how she would be able to continue save out of vicious spite.

"Zekatar sounded spooked," Zesstra said, walking in and taking a seat on a bench. She smelled of incense and blood-she'd been at the temple. "I do believe you finally frighten him as a female should."

"I will tear his face from his skull," Val growled with an uncharacteristic venom. Perhaps it was the Weapon Master's earlier words, but she felt an urge to slap the faint smile off her older sister's face.

Neither of her sisters had been subjected to this and she knew it. Everything they wanted, they had. People expected them to excel, treated them like the nobles they were. And yet each one had seemed perfectly fine with Zekatar's treatment of her. It made her want to tear them apart with her claws, see glistening intestine spill out against dark blood and white bone...

The urge wasn't hers. It was a taste of the Abyss.

Val exhaled a sigh and closed her eyes for a moment. She opened them again to see Zesstra looking at her strangely. "What?"

"You're changing, sister. That was more vicious than I think I've ever heard you be before," the priestess said almost quizzically.

"He brings out the worst in me," Val said, relaxing slightly and letting the feelings go. It wasn't normal, she knew, and was likely a result of her close connection to the Abyss.

"I think it's a good thing. You will need venom to survive the Academy. Priestesses will see you as beneath them, while mages see you as a dangerous rival."

"And this will be different from home how?" the younger drowess said, allowing her eyes to fall half closed. She was half tempted to sleep in the baths and enjoy the mineral-rich waters boiling up from the springs beneath. She didn't even balk at Zesstra's little chuckle.

"Fair point, I suppose. Speaking of those who look down on you, the Matron wants to speak to you when you're appropriately cleaned up."

"Perfect," Val groaned miserably, sinking a bit lower in the water. It wasn't that she hated the Matron, but she knew that her mother preferred not to wait long and that meant abandoning the refuge of the baths and her brief instance of peace and quiet.

A little while later, smelling of fragrant soap and only damp instead of soaking, Val stopped outside the door to the Matron's chambers, which was standing ajar to reveal that the Matron worked at her desk. It was hard not to hesitate, as it was still very unfamiliar to be at the center of her mother's attention. Siniira liked to watch and wait long before she made her judgments. She never rushed. That careful, methodical, ruthless intellect hiding behind deceptively gentle features had allowed her to raise the house to and maintain it at a somewhat precarious position in the upper echelons of the House.

"Come in, Valyne," her mother said. Siniira's orders were never bellowed, only said with the quiet certainty that compelled such obedience. To disobey her was never a choice. It was the reality of the universe. "And close the door behind you. I wish to speak to you, not eavesdropping servants."

Val obeyed without a thought, stepping in and closing the door. As it clicked behind her, she felt a surge of magic-wards of silence surrounded them. A very expensive, but undoubtedly very necessary precaution. "You wanted to see me, Matron?"

Siniira dripped wax from the candle sitting next to her onto the envelope she'd just closed, then pressed her seal into the ruby red wax. The flickering candle was enough for their sensitive eyes to illuminate the whole room in a bath of light. "What does the idea of being Matron mean to you, Valyne?"

"I can never-" Val started to say, thinking quickly. Was this a trap?

"You avoid the question," Siniira said sharply.

Val took a breath, calming herself. Maybe it was time to just say what she honestly thought. Clearly that was what the Matron was looking for. "It means working for the House's future above everything else."

"Naive, but correct." The Matron turned in her seat to face her youngest child. "And with this in mind, why do you think I assigned you to study beneath Zekatar knowing his feelings towards mages and more particularly, you?"

"Because the house is stronger without me," Val said bitterly. "He's said so many times."

"Incorrect," Siniira said, face unreadable. "Under his tutelage, you are learning things more important than weapon skills. You are learning what it is to have a deck stacked against you. How to persevere when your enemy is more powerful than you. How to use your anger to drive yourself to excellence. The tasks Zekatar has set you were meant to be impossible for you. Yet you have completed each and every one."

Val was quiet, steel eyes thoughtful as she watched her mother. Things were beginning to make more sense now. The explanation was gratifying, though the lessons were still hard ones to learn.

Siniira smiled ever so faintly. "There will always be enemies more powerful than yourself, no matter how strong you grow. Tell me, if you fought a pitched battle against Zekatar, what would happen?"

"He would win, though perhaps I could wound him badly," Val said immediately.

"Very wise. So if open war is impossible, how must you combat him?"

"I...don't know," Val admitted. Lirayne had been her wean mother and their enmity had always been very straightforward. Her sister had set the terms as such.

"Subtly, secretly. You must play up your weaknesses until his guard lowers, then carefully wear away at him. Sap his strength until you are certain of your odds, and even then place the battle in your favor by choosing the time and place. In every situation, against every opponent, there is an advantage. Seek it out always and be ready to exploit it in an instant," Siniira instructed firmly. "The world ahead of you is full of twists and turns, Valyne. But it is also full of opportunities and lessons. I have high expectations and high hopes for you."

"Why me?" Val asked softly, confused. She had always assumed that like her sisters and Zekatar, the Matron looked at her with disdain.

"You are my daughter," Siniira said as if that explained everything. She rose and stepped over when she saw confusion still written plainly in her child's expression. "I am not immortal, Valyne. My only legacy is in my children, and you are all that I can have." There was a flicker of pain in the Matron's face when she spoke, a hint of something real. "I very nearly did not have even you."

"Mother?" Val asked hesitantly, reaching out to touch the Matron's arm.

The too familiar term was not corrected. Instead, Siniira was quiet for a moment and then nodded. "Tomorrow, Zekatar will end his lesson early. From now on, every day, you will meet me here. We have much to do before Sorcere and little time."


	5. From Past Mistakes

Valyne was grateful for the respite from Zekatar, his cruelty far less effective now that she had a time where her body could rest and her mind was active. She spent hours in the Matron's company, listening to her mother attending to house business even as she poured over tomes regarding the history of her own house and others. It was strange, to indulge her mind's curiosity in the facts and obscure knowledge that Lirayne and Zesstra both shunned. Drow rarely cared much for history unless it served their immediate purpose.

Val looked up from one thin volume when her mother approached and sat down across the table. "Can I be of assistance, Matron?" she asked quietly. The book was a thin treatise on the Demonweb, something else that she had been studying at Malcanthet's urging. As a plane of the Abyss, she found it fascinating. It was unfortunate details were so few.

"What do you think of Matron Malice and House Do'Urden now that you have read chronicles of what transpired throughout their history?" Siniira asked.

The young drow closed her book and set it down, biting her lower lip in thought. "I think Do'Urden had a great deal of potential, but its nobles were too flawed," she said softly. "Malice made enemies within the ranks-the Weapon Master, the second boy, her eldest daughter. A House divided is easy prey, especially to one like Baenre."

"You are correct in your appraisal. All of the leaders I have had you study, male and female, warrior and cleric, have brought to ruin something that was or might have been great," Siniira said with a nod. "What makes a poor ruler and leader from what you have read?"

"Arrogance, vanity, selfishness, greed, weakness, obstinacy, treachery, mercy, and wrath," Val said, recalling the various figures of drow legend in her mind. Great generals, Matrons, all consumed by their own flaws. She'd seen the images reflected in the faces of her sisters. Zesstra was arrogant-perhaps not without cause, due to her intellect that surpassed most-seeing herself as invulnerable, treacherous to the point where she could name not even one who truly trusted her, and ever putting her own gain above that of others. Lirayne was vain, unable to allow any slight to go unanswered no matter the position it put her in and fond of those who flattered her, and as obstinate and wrathful as they came.

"And a good leader?" Siniira asked with a hint of a smile.

"Confidence, justness, authority, loyalty, determination, charisma, diplomacy, and intelligence," Val said, listing them out carefully. She'd thought on them too. They seemed to go hand in hand with the bad things-Zesstra was charming, intelligent, diplomatic. Lirayne was confident, determined, strong. That was why each had factions within the House that followed hem.

"Anything to excess is dangerous," Siniira said. "I tried to instill that lesson upon your sisters, but they are drow and priestesses at that. They do not know how to hold themselves in check. I was as foolish when I was their age. Do you understand why I want you to learn these things?"

Val shook her head slightly, acknowledging that she didn't know.

"Because some day, you will be a powerful drow noble capable of shaping this House to your own image. And what flaws you have, you will impress upon it. No one is perfect, Val. Not you, not Zesstra, not Lirayne, not I. But if you know where you are weak, you can compensate. If you are vain, you can surround yourself with the honest and force yourself to listen to them. If you are wrathful, you can hold back and allow your temper to cool before deciding. If you are ignorant of a topic, you can humble yourself enough to seek out those who do understand it."

"The House means a great deal to you, doesn't it?" Val said quietly. There was always a certain light to Siniira's eyes when she lectured like this. The topics were important ones.

"It does," Siniira confirmed. "A wise Matron looks to the past and studies it, so that she does not repeat the mistakes found within. That is how I raised our House to where it stands now, and how I have shaped it into something fine enough to be at an even higher standing. Do you see?"

"I think so," Val said with a confidence she did feel.

There was a knock on the door and Siniira rose from her seat. "Enter."

It was one of the servants, a young man that Val didn't recognize-even with her age and privileges, there were many parts of the House that she had never seen before. "Matron, the prisoners you asked for have been brought to the audience hall."

"Very good. Valyne, come with me."

Three miserable figures waited for them in the audience hall, weighted down by manacles, leg irons, and heavy body chains. One was a massive orc covered with brands that showed he had been through many different owners. Another was a hatchet-faced male drow who glared at Valyne and the Matron with ill-disguised loathing. The last was an oddity, a pale-skinned and dark-haired human who stared off into space. She was blind in the darkness without the aid of magic.

Siniira stood at her youngest's shoulder, allowing Valyne to study the three in fascination a few moments before speaking. "You are responsible for the judgment of these three captives, Valyne. Are you ready to begin?"

Val took a deep and tentative breath, eyeing the orc warily. She doubted a creature so powerful would really be restrained by his chains if he lost his temper. "Yes. Why is he a prisoner?"

"He has been a slave for all of his life, used most often in building as he has a knack for masonry. The tasks he met with some enjoyment. But as you can see, he lacks obedience. Many times he has run away from his masters only to be dragged back," Siniira explained.

The young drowess turned this over in her mind thoughtfully. Perhaps he was simply not suited to servitude. She doubted that she would accept it easily either. Maybe he had a useful fire. And certainly, a skilled laborer-particularly a slave-she knew was valuable. "Allow him to buy his freedom through labor," Val said finally, softly. Instantly, that massive shaggy head jerked upward and two yellow, startled eyes focused on her. "If he works hard and well for two years, he should be freed and allowed to continue his life as a paid laborer."

Siniira inclined her head slightly to the guards and they pulled him away.

"Him?" she asked, looking at the drow.

"A houseless creature," Siniira said. "And one enamored of Vhaeraun. He sought to ingratiate himself with their cult by breaking into the temple and destroying a priceless relic. He did not, however, escape. The priestesses are very eager to get their hands on him."

Val bit her lower lip. Only a fool would strike at the Church itself, and it took a special kind of idiot to fail in an escape attempt. Unlike the orc, she saw no redeeming usefulness for him. To release him was to anger the Goddess. Maybe there was an advantage to indulging the clerics of Lolth here. "If the Church would like him, then we should oblige," Val said, even though she knew she was sending him to likely an unpleasant death. She felt a twinge of pity, but her sympathy was curtailed by the murder in his eyes.

Again Siniira slightly inclined her head to the guards and they pulled the now struggling and swearing male drow away. Only the human remained, her face tight with anxiety and fear.

"This one is a murderer. She assassinated a priestess of moderate rank, but maintains that she has no knowledge of who hired her-they worked through an agent. She kills for money, usually on the surface, but was capable of piercing down to the Underdark and even claimed a victim," Siniira said.

Val studied the face before her carefully. The pale skin reminded her of Malcanthet, but this creature looked frightened and apprehensive...but also stubborn, like she was daring the drow to try something. "Send her to Yasrena." The woman in question was the unofficial face of House Duskryn's spy network, reporting frequently to the Matron. "She always needs more killers."

The guards responded to Siniira's subtle movement, removing the chains from the human and guiding her away.

The Matron turned to her daughter. "Your decision regarding the human was intelligent. Never waste a valuable asset, particularly a mercenary one. As was your decision to gain favor with the Church by surrendering the male to them. Why did you let the orc free?"

Val bit her lower lip. "I thought that maybe if he was allowed a stake in his own future, he would serve the House better."

"And yet, the message it sends to other slaves is that we reward those who are difficult, who try to flee and fight," Siniira said sternly. "You must always be considering things from every angle, Valyne. We cannot afford to look weak or to encourage disobedience. Do you understand?"

Val bowed her head, feeling shame burn in her cheeks. It was a foolish mistake, but the Matron did not seem infuriated. "I will be more careful in future, Matron."

"Be certain you are. Like it or not, as a noble and as my daughter, your deeds reflect upon the House as a whole. If you are weak, we are all seen as weak. This is particularly true of your performance at Sorcere. I expect the best from you," Siniira said. "Everyone there will expect you to falter and fail. You must prove them wrong at every turn if you wish to be a drowess who can hold her head up high when she walks through Menzoberranzan."


	6. For a Purpose

"Your mother is up to something," Zekatar said, prowling back and forth.

Lirayne laughed, running the whetstone along her blade. The harsh rasp had a rhythm to it, each stroke bringing the sword closer to a razor's edge. "You say that like it's news," she said. "The Matron is always up to something. That's why she sits in that throne."

"If you wish to have her place, you should be more attentive," the Weapon Master said firmly. "Zesstra has you outmatched in that regard."

"In every regard, father," Zesstra said smoothly as she stepped in. "I'm flattered that you're discussing me even when I'm not around, of course."

Lirayne grinned wolfishly up at her elder sister. "Enjoy your lofty position while it lasts-until the Matron sends for you. She's absolutely furious. Apparently house funds were being misappropriated to fund raiders attacking House Fey Branche's trading caravans." She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Someone's not as clever as she thinks she is."

Zesstra shrugged with a smile. "Mistakes are always made by the lesser captains. They get too ambitious."

"Try that line on her, I dare you," Lirayne said, clearly reveling in the moment. "I told you that your schemes would trip you up eventually."

Zekatar rolled his eyes. Lirayne was unquestionably his favorite, but her gloating was doing her no good. "Are you both quite finished?"

"Oh, indeed. Please elaborate on what you think the Matron's up to. Is she keeping secrets from you? Clearly that would be a new development," Lirayne sniped, her tone heavy with sarcasm. They all knew that Siniira was a master of working in shadows. Most of her pawns didn't even know who was really their master.

The grizzled male scowled in displeasure. "I have a feeling."

"Spooky," Lirayne said in her rare, impish good humor. She wiggled her fingers menacingly at the male. "Have there been omens? Odd clumps in your tea leaves?"

"Perhaps," Zesstra responded instead, but there was a dismissive note in her voice. "Her schemes are constant, slow, and certain. And they are absolutely against the other Houses. I have handled her dispatches, seen to her errands-she is more concerned with thwarting her rivals than anything else."

"You would do best to remember that you both are her rivals," Zekatar warned.

"Do not presume to lecture me on my own business," Zesstra said sharply, her normally saccharine demeanor shattered by insolence from a male, even the one who had sired her. "Lirayne, have you seen any indication of her plots among the soldiers?"

"Not save the machinations against the filthy little duergar of Gracklstugh, and those go well. Their patrols have been driven back from our mines and they know now that theft gains them only an early grave," Lirayne said, lip curling slightly in distaste as she spoke of the gray dwarves.

"Then we should-" Zekatar started to say. He was interrupted when the door to his chambers opened without a knock to reveal the stern aspect of the guard captain.

"Mistress Zesstra, the Matron Mother requests your presence in the audience hall," the guard said. "She suggested that you should have been there several minutes ago."

Lirayne waved as her sister tried to look dignified while hurrying to the audience hall. One did not keep Siniira Duskryn waiting, if they had a shred of sense.

The throne of House Duskryn was wrought of ivory-the worked bone of a great dragon slain thousands and thousands of years ago, then draped and padded with fine silver-white spider silk. Siniira's skin stood out in stark contrast against it like a statue wrought of dark onyx, grim and foreboding in her silence. And on her brow was the prize lusted after by both her priestess daughters-the iron crown.

Now was not a time for pride and Zesstra knew it, lowering herself to one knee and bowing her head. "You summoned me, Matron?" the priestess said.

"When, I wonder, did the coffers of House Duskryn become a tool used for your personal vendettas?" Siniira said softly, rising from her seat. She was ill-inclined to bellow and shout even now, with the black rage trying to claw its way out of her chest and up her throat like an animal. The arrogance, the stupidity! But of course, Zesstra had always thought herself above punishment, even as a child. Spoiled by her father, allowed opportunities beyond her years, always privileged and given special treatment. The Matron considered that perhaps if she had acted sooner, there would not have been such a blatant abuse of power.

"Matron, I-"

"If I wanted your opinion, Zesstra, I would ask for it," Siniira said with a deceptive air of patient forbearance. "The House does not exist to serve your vanity or whims. Everything I do, every order I give, serves a purpose. And you, selfish, stupid child, have nearly risked a war with Fey Branche. I have not spent centuries building up Duskryn to have it brought to nothing over an infantile grudge. Am I clearly understood?"

"As crystal, Matron," Zesstra said in a subdued voice, even though resentment burned in every fiber of her being. Someday, she vowed, her mother would pay for this insult.

"You are confined to your quarters until I say otherwise," Siniira said bluntly. "While you are there, I would suggest you reflect upon your failure and do not repeat it in future."

Zesstra looked shocked and livid, head abruptly jerking up to glare at her mother. Confinement was the punishment of a child! Oh, she was certain she was meant to feel grateful for the privileges she was allowed to maintain, but it was galling to be treated openly like a disobedient little girl.

Her mother raised one white eyebrow. "Was there something you wished to say?"

It was an invitation to hang herself with her own noose, and Zesstra knew it. "Thank you, Matron," she ground out instead.

"You are dismissed, Zesstra."

The priestess took her leave with a rage in her eyes that would probably be vented on some unfortunate soul. She stalked down the hallway, pausing when she saw Valyne ahead with her nose buried in a book. The priestess stopped long enough to hide her anger behind a mask, knowing that it would be far better to befriend her younger sister than make an enemy. Lirayne alone was enough of a handful.

"What are you reading?" the priestess asked, sitting down beside Val. The script was not drow...it looked alien. Abyssal, if Zesstra had to guess. Strange that her younger sister was so well read.

"It's about the politics of the Abyss. A friend lent it to me," Val said without looking up. Malcanthet had been more than obliging with things like reading materials, even those procured from the depths.

"And why on earth would you care about those?" Zesstra asked, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Mourndar had apparently impressed a sort of bookishness on the youngest despite everyone's best efforts to the contrary. No wonder Zekatar so disliked her.

Val looked up with thoughtful gray eyes. "The Goddess rules from the Abyss," she said as if it were patently obvious. She didn't sound condescending-just mildly confused by her sister's lack of immediate comprehension. "Isn't that reason enough?"

Zesstra studied her younger sister. She had never really understood what wheels turned behind those eyes. Val had never been a deceptive child, nor one afflicted with the temper one could expect. She had never been indulged in the ways the others had. And yet the Matron constantly sought updates on her progress from Zekatar and Mourdar, always watching.

"You know, the Matron once favored you very much," the priestess said, looking away. "When she was almost to the end of term, she was attacked by an assassin and nearly killed. You should have died, but you were instead delivered very much alive. She was destroyed inside and still suffers great pain. Those first few months, we could not part you from her like was proper. Lirayne blamed it for how weak you were as a child."

"Is that why she can't have any more children?" Val asked softly. It was hard to believe that her mother had ever been so attached to her. Maybe that was why she had taken such an interest.

"Yes. Anyway, I had best head to my quarters," Zesstra said casually. She didn't know herself why she had related that tidbit of information. Perhaps simply because in that moment with that book, Valyne seemed so terribly like Siniira.

Val closed her volume after Zesstra had disappeared down the hallway. If her mother lived by her own lessons, there must have been a reason she changed from fondness enough to keep her child close to the normal distance and then the anger she displayed when she first found out about the arcane magic. Perhaps it was not an organic display of emotion and instead a calculated act. But to what end?


	7. Legacy

Val had never felt less ready in her life than the late hours of the cycle before she was supposed to leave for Sorcere. "I'm not strong enough," she whispered quietly, studying her hands intently. Her lessons were finished. Zekatar's punishments had strengthened her body while the Matron honed her mind. But she felt a terrible, yawning uncertainty stretching out ahead. She would be expected to compete with mages at a level of skill rivaling Mourndar's, soldiers younger and more energetic than Zekatar, priestesses as talented and cunning as Lirayne and Zesstra.

"There is a way to use your gift that would offer you more," Malcanthet said smoothly from behind her. "You have the talent, should you choose to use it."

"And what is that?" Val asked.

The succubus watched the young drowess pace back and forth with a lazy smile. "There are those with a touch of the Abyss in their blood who have learned how to bind demons to their will, even their flesh. It is a very rare discipline, but one of the most powerful I know. An extension of what you have learned already."

Val felt her mouth go dry. Drow history had whispered of a few who walked the path Malcanthet spoke of-dark figures of limitless savagery, incredible power, and unrivaled connection to the Abyss itself. Knowing that it was possible for her to be so strong, to prove the world wrong about her perceived weakness...the temptation was vast.

_You must always be considering things from every angle,_ Siniira had said. Why should this decision be any different. Val considered that perhaps she had made a mistake in exempting the friendly figure of Malcanthet from scrutiny. But she could never see what the succubus had to gain. "A strange thing to offer to teach," Val said finally. "I would think that as a demon, you would resent being used."

"It provides an opportunity for battle, to ravage and destroy. Besides, you are no normal wizard attempting to enslave with spells. The Abyss is part of you," Malcanthet said smoothly.

"Tell me the real reason," Val said, refusing to bite. It thrilled the succubus to see the veneer of innocence peeling away from the young drowess to show a critical mind beneath. It was a recent change, a far cry from the girl that had first allowed her to step out of the summoning circle.

"You could be great, sweet thing. And perhaps, in that power, there's room for something like me."

A lust for influence was a motivation that was easily understood by any drow, and Val was no exception. She knew that the whole story was undoubtedly more complicated. But the reward, if even a fraction of the stories were true, most certainly allowed for healthy risk. "Show me," Val said quietly after a long few moments of deliberation. In the abstract, she knew that it put her soul at risk...as much of a soul as a drow could have. Things like conscience and purity were weakness according to the Church. And more than that, she wanted to make the Matron proud.

Malcanthet grinned. "Close your eyes and reach towards the source of your magic. Can you feel the barrier between this plane and the Abyss weaken?"

"Yes," Val said, her eyes closed obediently. It was true. The same thrumming power that she'd felt forcing the boulder over surged through her veins. She felt alive, shivers running through her limbs as strength flooded out to them.

"Good, you are opening yourself to it. Now, sweet thing, summon a demon but not to the outside world. Be ready to force it into submission, as some are not so cooperative," Malcanthet advised.

Val's lips moved as she silently murmured the right incantation, and then she felt a sudden, almost overwhelming black presence surge into her body. She twisted violently and doubled over, body burning like it was aflame. But her mind rode the wave instead of falling under it. There was only a brief resistance, and then she was in control.

The change was almost indescribable. The air smelled fresher, sweeter. Even in the darkness, colors became more vivid. For the first time, Val was acutely aware of the singing of her own heartbeat. It was as if she'd been sleepwalking her entire life and suddenly she was perfectly awake. The power resonated in every fiber of her being. She felt powerful, beautiful, and hungry. When she let her hands fall away from her face, she saw that her fingernails had become claws.

"It suits you, sweet thing," her erstwhile mentor said with a smile, sinuous tail flicking slightly with amusement. "How do you feel?"

Val tried to speak, but it came out instead as a low and powerful growl of demonic discontent. The hunger was like a fire in her blood, singing for the sweetness of a living being torn apart at her fingertips rather than any kind of physical sustenance. It was an appetite that could never be sated. Without thinking, she lunged at Malcanthet.

The succubus laughed, lashing out with a wing to redirect rather than stop her pupil. Val tumbled over and came up on her feet in a blink, rolling her shoulders in a stretch. "I feel...better," Val said in a voice not quite her own, the harmonics of a normal voice and a guttural growl woven together. "Stronger. No pain. Just hunger."

"Now comes the true test. Can you banish the demon?" Malcanthet said.

Val nodded her head and opened the connection again. She murmured the banishing ritual without hesitation until it started to take effect. Then, it felt like she was tearing away part of herself. The strength poured out of her body to be replaced by such a feeble fragility. Was this how weak she had always been? No wonder she was ridiculed. The color and vivacity bled out of the world until she was left bereft and alone kneeling on the floor. But she forced herself to choke out the last of the banishment anyway, even though her eyes stung with tears at the horrible sensation of loss.

"You are stronger than I thought," Malcanthet admitted, coming over. "Most who dream of being a demonbinder are not strong enough to release themselves again. They are addicted to the thrill, driven mad by the bloodlust. And so the banishment kills them...often quite literally."

Val pulled in a deep, harsh breath. She felt hollow, empty. The price of power, she supposed. Perhaps it would be better to keep this as a hidden weapon and not use it unless absolutely necessary. It was not hard to see how casters drawing on such power started to crave it. She pushed herself up from the floor. "I understand now how it works," the young drowess said quietly as she studied her hands. They had returned to normal, but she could still remember the feeling of powerful claws.

Malcanthet shook her head slightly, still amused. "You underplay your talent. I am impressed."

"I have done nothing yet," Val said quietly. "It will take a great deal of practice before I know my limits while binding. But...thank you. They say knowledge is power."

"I'll leave you to your rest before Sorcere," the succubus said. "You know how to find me."

Val nodded and murmured a spell of banishing that allowed the demon to return to the Abyss. She felt exhausted. It was more than an hour before she was able to fall into bed, but she slept like the dead until Narbondel's first light.

The steel-eyed drowess woke in the early hours out of the sheer force of habit, stretching her limbs until a yawn overtook her. She still felt weary, but far less so than before. Most of the after effects of her first binding seemed to have disappeared. Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as she had thought.

Val bathed and dressed without wasting time, well aware that Mourndar would be quick to find her and haul her towards the Academy. In fact, he found her just as she'd finished tying her hair back out of her face.

"The Matron wants to see you," he said flatly.

"Then let's not keep her waiting," Val responded, already starting to move.

The Matron's quarters had become a familiar place over the past few weeks, its shelves full of history and table covered with a tactical map and silver figures that represented various forces at play. Val felt a twinge of regret at the idea that she would not come here again for years, just as she would miss her own room and the securities of her childhood home. Certainly, there were as many bad memories as good. But she could not help the almost nostalgic fondness.

Siniira was at her desk again, but this time she turned and rose. "Mourndar, if you would care to wait outside?" she said coolly.

"Of course, Matron," the wizard said, bowing to acknowledge her order before stepping outside.

Val was left standing in the familiar, slightly awkward silence for only a moment as Siniira unlocked one of her desk drawers and drew out a small folded cloth. The Matron flipped it open with a delicate flick of her ebon fingers, revealing a silver ring set with a ruby-colored stone in the shape of their house's symbol.

"This heirloom has been in our family since the beginning. It is not enchanted, but the red you see was stone crystallized in the Demonweb and touched by the blood of the Goddess Herself," Siniira said, running a thumb over the smooth band with reverence. Then she turned and held the ring out to her daughter. "Now it is yours, Valyne. Let it remind you of the past and give you strength for the future."

In that moment, Val was certain her eyes were the size of saucers even as she reached out and touched the ring. She felt echoes of the Abyss and divine magic clinging to the red gem. She picked it up with incredible delicacy, closing her palm around it. The ring was cool against her skin, but quickly warmed. "I...thank you, Matron," she said, almost at a loss for words.

It was more than she could have asked for. It was an anchor, a keepsake to push back the homesickness that would come. A gift with meaning.

"I see something in you that gives me hope for the future," Siniira said quietly. Her silver eyes spoke of a thousand things that she had no words for. Drow priestesses were never taught to put names to most of their emotions. Instead they were mute, powerless to speak what they needed to say. "Something very rare, something beyond description. Never let it go, Valyne. Now depart."

Siniira turned away, folding the cloth up and returning it to the drawer. The brief audience was at an end. And so, Valyne obediently left for Sorcere, the world opening up before her.


	8. The Second Test

Sorcere was not a home to Val. It was a prison. A great and brooding structure filled with long halls and imposing rooms, a grim severity permeated every inch of the Academy. There was power and opulence to be found, even a dark beauty, but that was limited to the areas of the instructors. And, for the first time in her life thus far, the young drowess found herself surrounded by males at every turn. For a girl who had spent most of her time in the company of her mother and her sisters, Zekatar notwithstanding, it was unnerving.

The caution that they felt towards her was quickly fading into a violent animosity at the prodding of their teachers. Val spent much of her time alone in the library, her back firmly against a wall with several escape routes plotted even as she studied from books. As days stretched into weeks and then months, her awareness became a force unto its own-a perfect paranoia. She was always watching.

It was lonely to be one of the few females at the Academy, the others all distant figures that watched the world with sullen eyes. They were far from immune to the predations of the males around them, after all. Particularly the instructors, who seemed to thrill at the idea of any vulnerability to be exploited. After all, had they not been tortured for years themselves? It was a perverse dance that Val had done her best to avoid by being quiet, being absent, and being watchful.

But it was not a perfect strategy. Sometimes there were...complications.

"You're sitting in my spot, weakling," a rough voice said, jarring her out of her book. A lean, red-eyed male from House Agrach Dyrr loomed over her using his height to menacing effect. She could not recall his name but knew him from one of her classes. A wizard of moderate talent and surpassing arrogance-high enough on the food chain to be drunk on power, but not so high that he was above occasionally groveling for his survival.

Val had avoided the power plays by simply keeping her head down until she felt stronger, more practiced. Perhaps she might have avoided this one too, had she not spent the night before honing the art of binding.

The little trick that Malcanthet had shown her proved too tempting to resist. She knew she would need it to protect herself eventually and thought that mastery would lessen the effects. It did not. Now for hours afterward she would lie on the bed, feeling listless and nearly lifeless as the world turned gray and dull. To even feel real, things had to be more intense. She spiced her food heavily, bathed in hotter or colder water, found herself stroking fabric with her fingers just to anchor herself at all. But binding, channeling a demon into her body was absolutely euphoric. Its siren call was sometimes too strong to ignore and she found herself drawing upon it alone in the training gym, shredding enchanted manikins in her claws and imagining their screams. It frightened her, how powerful the urges were sometimes.

She had fallen into darker magics than even Sorcere taught its students. The only answers she had found were gleaned through hours of reading and sifting out details to be evaluated for accuracy.

And now, someone was interrupting her studies. The weary drowess could feel her already thin patience begin wear as she looked up at House Agrach Dyrr's noble son. "I suggest you find a different table," she said without a hint of malice, stifling a yawn with her fist.

His anger bloomed into full flower, tightening his fists and the muscles of his jaw. "And just who do you think you are?" he sneered. Other heads were beginning to turn their way.

Val didn't really want to fight him. After all, why should she care about a simple table? But the insulting idea that she simply drop everything just to please someone else... "I think I'm the person who was here first," she said simply. "Just be a good boy and walk away. We don't want this to get messy, do we?"

It was chilled and condescending, calculated to hit him in the primal instincts that coached the average male drow away from fighting a priestess. She'd heard Zesstra use the tone to great effect on many an occasion. And for a second, she thought it would work.

Until one of the other males who was watching shouted, "You going to take that, Baragh?"

She saw his hand twitch into a small series of gestures, his lips moving as he began a spell to retaliate. If he backed down in front of this audience, it'd make him seem cowardly and weak.

Val reacted without having to stop and think, slamming her knee up into the edge of the table so hard that it flipped up and over at him. His concentration was shattered and Baragh stumbled back. Instead of muttering, Val simply grabbed him as her hand glowed with a cold blue light of negative energy. The male cried out in pain as she drained the life force flowing through his body with a chill touch, then recoiled back as soon as she released him to nurse his arm.

His head jerked up and he snarled a spell viciously. In a flash of blinding light and ozone, a bolt of lightning arced at her and hit with vengeful effect. Val staggered back, blinking furiously as her eyes struggled to accommodate. The needles of pain in her limbs were strangely refreshing, like plunging into ice cold water. She felt something again instead of a gray limbo.

"What in the Demonweb...?" Baragh growled. The drowess was smiling at him almost like she relished the pain. That was not natural.

Val's fingers were already weaving a spell. She clenched her fist when it was finished and the bookshelf beside them creaked under the pressure of an invisible hand grasping. She hurled the whole shelf and all of its volumes at Baragh, smashing his body and sending him rolling backwards with broken bones. Cheers erupted from the others watching, less because they liked her and more because any violence was intoxicating to them.

He was hardly down for the count despite the contusions all over his body and even a few fractured bones. In his hand, a seed of flame sparked to life and he hurled it at her. It blossomed into a great ball of flame and searing heat.

Val reacted on instinct, curling her fingers down as if hooking them under something. With a silent word, she hurled upwards. The floor gave a thunderous crack and snapped up like a wall of stone. The fire struck it, singeing the stone, and then dissipated harmlessly. The now broken stone was allowed to fall back into place.

Baragh bared his teeth in a ferocious grin and directed a cone of freezing cold at her. The young drowess was not stupid-she threw herself out of the way. The ice burned her legs but she managed to get most of her body clear. Again, what once would have been pain was a thrilling connection to the real world.

All around them, students were scattering but watching the duel with rabid interest. Many shouted encouragement or taunting barbs that seemed to have little effect on the two combatants.

"Solaun, get her!" Baragh howled at his older friend, a hexblade that was lounging on the side.

"What, can't handle the little priestess reject?" Solaun jeered.

Val felt a stab of anger in the center of her chest at that. She hit the ground in a roll to avoid the male's next fireball and shot forward in a charge. Dark energy curled around her hands like black flames. She lashed out with a spell and seized the table behind Baragh and pulled viciously, slamming it into his back. The male crumpled.

Baragh was twitching but not dead when she walked over. "Are we finished now?" she said, leaning over him. "Because I don't want to be here when they see the bookcase."

"Yes," he breathed out painfully, eyes closed as he nursed cracked ribs. The male drow was startled when she grabbed his arm and wrenched him up without much thought to his condition. But even though it was agony, thoughts of vengeance were checked when he understood her purpose: she was getting him away from the scene of the crime so he wouldn't be punished...probably because she didn't want him squealing her responsibility to the first instructor who drove two fingers into one of his broken ribs.

Val didn't say anything until they were several halls away, dumping him unceremoniously into a vacant chair. "Now you're on your own," she said, knowing that to show further mercy would mean being seen as weak. It wasn't that she felt no empathy; she most certainly did after Zekatar had done a number on her own ribs a couple of times. But he had asked for it.

"Next time, you'll be the one hurting," Baragh promised through his grimace.

"I won't hold my breath," Val said, shrugging off his concerns. She strode out of the hallway back towards her rooms. Other students, all male, watched her as she passed by them. And she watched them back like a hawk, always ready. It was strange to have seen other students brutalized and beaten, yet remain untouched. She was never certain if she was lucky to have escaped such punishment. It seemed to isolate her more. But she was always ready for the other shoe to drop, as it were.

She made it to her room without incident, but was allowed only a few moments of quiet before the door opened. It was Master G'eldorl, his lips pursed into a thin line. "You have a visitor," he said bluntly before stepping aside to allow Zesstra in.

"I think that will be all, thank you," Zesstra said with a smile at the dour male. He took the hint and departed with a bow. The priestess strode in and shut the door behind her before turning her attention to her sister's shelf and the tomes on it. "Rites of the Spider Queen? The Demon Queen's Devotions? Church Protocol? My, Val, but you do have an interesting taste in literature."

"Lack of gift in divine magic is hardly an excuse for ignorance," Val said quietly. She was acutely aware that she was on dangerous ground. If Zesstra mistook her efforts to please the Matron as competition...

Zesstra smiled. "So eager to prove yourself even though you'll never be a priestess. I find your devotion admirable, even if it is childish. The Church will never accept you. And the Matron coddles you because you worship the ground she walks on. If she truly respected you, had hope for you, she would have let you out into the real world long before the Academy."

Val clenched her hands into fists. "Like you were?" she said evenly. "Allowed to remain home an extra year to be prepared enough for Arach-Tinilith, the Weapon Master's authority used to quash rivals, allowed to have first choice of every patrol...if I am coddled, then you were indulged in weakness."

Her eldest sister laughed and turned. "You think you can do better? Maybe you've even gotten the silly little idea that you can be Matron. You're an arcane caster, Val. You will never be allowed that kind of status. Not by the Church, not by the House."

"I don't give a damn about being Matron and you know that," Val shouted. Her anger was rising like a black tide, and with it came a terrible craving to embrace the demonic. She felt like she was going to be sick. _What could a little hurt?_But she refused to give in around anyone else. "Is it so wrong to not want to be under your shadow forever? Lirayne's? I can be strong enough to protect the House."

"The House?" Zesstra's laughter was like the tinkle of falling glass. "Goddess, you are like Mother. Obsessed with the wellfare of commoners, the perpetuation of an empty name. This is about power. Nothing else. Learn that, or you deserve the fate that will find you."

"The world is bigger than your self, Zesstra," Val snapped. She couldn't forget the softness around the Matron's eyes when she spoke of the House. More than that, there was purpose in working for something bigger, more important. The Church wanted nothing to do with her, so it was all she had. "Now leave me alone."

Zesstra gave her a sweeping bow. "As you wish, mage."

It was the end of the truce that had existed for Val's entire childhood.


	9. Owned

Malcanthet reclined in the darkness, basking in the pulsing heart of madness that was the depths of the Abyss. The cavern was impossibly vast and almost completely filled with oily, ink colored saltwater. Ripples broke the sheen of the surface whenever droplets plunged from stalactites up above. The brine-filled air was cloying and filled with the heavy scents of noxious, corrupted wounds and rotting flesh. "I told you that subtlety was the proper option. Patience is a virtue, as they say."

The voice from the impenetrable murk was a low, guttural growl of the Abyssal tongue. Ancient and harsh, the syllables were weighted as if each one was a tomb door falling shut. It matched well the terrible malevolence that permeated every droplet of water, every inch of rock. **Speak not to us of virtue.**

"She finds moving closer to her nature to be appealing. The taint of the Abyss grows within her, offering her power. But I believe she is still two minds about it...just like her father," Malcanthet said, knowing that despite the protests there was a great deal of hidden interest. She continued, "The Spider Queen has not noticed, but the girl is young. Unproven. In time, provided she is not consumed by the power of the Abyss, I think she will make a great many people sit up and take notice."

The water bulged and swelled as what was beneath moved closer. A long forked tail covered in snake-like scales abruptly broke the surface of the water in a spray of foul, decay-filled liquid.** Lloth! Spreading her venom, claiming what is ours! Ours!**

"Be calm," Malcanthet said soothingly, sitting on the slime-covered stones that made up the gray shore. "She will recognize your power in time. She need not be an enemy when she shares a love of chaos and destruction."

The thrashing tail calmed and submerged again towards the putrid silt of the unfathomable depths.** Could crush. Rend. Tear. Devour. But yes, use. Using is best.**

Malcanthet smiled. She had made many enemies over the timeless aeons as she moved steadily upward through echelons of power through schemes and plays for favor. The Prince of Demons was one of the few allies she had that could claim truly to wield vast power and so to please him was wise. It took work, but she had not crossed him yet and had no intention of doing so in the near future. "Very well."

A brief flicker of four yellow, baleful eyes near the surface of the stagnant water told her that the audience was over. As suddenly as he had appeared for her, he was gone.

Malcanthet rose, nose wrinkling slightly down at the grime that had clung to her alabaster skin. But such was the price to pay for the satisfaction of knowing she had proved herself again useful. Her thoughts as she walked settled again on the subject of their brief conversation-Valyne. The young drowess was struggling with herself fiercely at the Academy, trying to reign herself in. It was beautiful to watch-such frustration, such bitterness. The girl inhabited a dreadful trap where she feared her demonic tendencies as they were stirred up by binding yet needed them to succeed.

* * *

Val flinched out of the way of a falling rock shaken loose by the sounds of combat echoing through the halls behind them. It was a test arranged by their instructors, but one that might as well have been real. The well-armed slaves they were fighting had been promised freedom if they were victorious, even to the point of killing the students. After all, why reward weakness? She grabbed the arm of one of her companions, a small and wiry priestess named Kiaran, and pulled her out of the way of more rubble. "We need to go back for the others!" she shouted as the aftershocks faded. "They're outnumbered!"

Kiaran nodded, panting for breath after their last battle. However, she was not the priestess in charge. That pleasure fell to Ryna Faen Tlabbar, who whirled on them furiously. "I am not risking the rest of us for a few fools," she hissed out.

Val bristled slightly. "You fear the enemy solely because they're monstrous," she said ferociously, meeting the priestess's glare with an equal determination. "We have the numbers to easily win."

"No one asked you, mage. If they die, it's their own fault. The Goddess does not spare the weak, nor should we," Ryna said flatly. She expected the mage to simply back down.

Instead, Val seemed even more resolute. "Fine, if you won't go to them, then I will," she said with a ferocity that surprised even her. "You don't leave your soldiers behind, Ryna. If they're loyal to you, you'd better damn well be loyal to them." She turned on her heel and stalked back the way they had come.

She heard footsteps approaching her quickly and tensed, at least until Kiaran's familiar voice spoke up. "What, can't a girl sign up for some fun?" the priestess said with a crooked smile.

Kiaran was not very powerful as priestesses went, but unlike most she was very willing to admit it. She excelled working with groups of others, allowing them to shore her up where she was weak and returning the favor when they needed it. The lack of arrogance and desire to dominate had been what drew Val into a friendship with the cleric.

Val smiled. "At least I'm not alone." She turned at the sound of more feet following. A handful of the male drow warriors had come as well. She recognized their faces from the previous weeks of mingling with Melee-Magthere and Arach-Tinilith students. Many of them had friends or even lovers among the others that were probably being decimated. "If we hurry, we can do this," she said firmly.

It was about two minute's run before they broke out to the open cavern where pandemonium had erupted. The force of drow students had been pushed back to a corner, most of them wounded as a swarm of goblinoids ate away at their defenses. Maybe, maybe if the whole group had been here their rescue would have looked easy. However, things looked grim with how few reinforcements there were.

"Val, we can't take that many," Kiaran said, gripping her sword more tightly. Her fear was reflected in the faces of the others.

Val considered their position. An overwhelming force of bugbears, orcs, trolls, and goblins could be routed if they were frightened. They needed a large shock and heavy casualties in a short amount of time. The defenders needed fresh bodies to take over for the wounded so that they could catch their breath and regroup.

"Kiaran, take the others to rally with our folks down there," Val said firmly. "Cut a path. I'll create a diversion, keep them off you until you can get everyone moving to rejoin the others. Once you get them to the passage, I'll meet up with you."

"One drow isn't going to draw them away," one of the warriors said, gripping his mace more tightly. "They'll kill you."

"It won't be one drow," she said. Then she slapped his shoulder in a companionable way. "Besides, if I get killed, you can be the pretty one."

The sudden humor broke through the apprehension of the drow rescue party and they all readied themselves for the charge to the rescue ahead. "We can do this, right?" Kiaran said nervously, glancing over at Val.

"We are drow. Nothing out there is anywhere near as dangerous as we are," Val said. She gave the priestess a gentle push. "Go. Just get them out of there and everything will be fine."

Once the others had started making the descent, she stood on the edge of the precipice that formed the overlook and took a deep breath. Then she closed her eyes and opened herself to the taint of the Abyss in her blood, reaching deeper and deeper. A shuddering warmth filled her, growing in intensity until she felt her whole body burning like a furnace. Her fingers stretched and cracked, frissons of pain running up her arm as they twisted and hardened into sharp demonic claws. The power rushed in like a tidal wave, barely kept in check by her twitching body. She felt her jaw crack as teeth lengthened into fangs.

The smells of blood and smoke filled her nose, whipping the slumbering hunger up into an unholy fury. She let out a roar in Abyssal that shattered across the battlefield and drew the attention of drow and goblinoid alike to her. And then, she launched herself out and off the ledge without a thought to the twenty foot fall.

The drowess smashed into the ground on her feet, feeling only the euphoria of binding. The demon was not subservient to her in her body-it was a part of her, working in tandem with her just as her muscles worked alongside her bones. Val moved among the foe like a fury, tearing into every victim with her razor-like claws. Bugbear weapons wounded her, slicing into the flesh of her arms, her legs, running across her ribs, but nothing stopped her. Instead she growled in a rage and lashed out or laughed openly at the futility of their struggles as she choked the life out of one or ripped a limb from another.

Was this what it felt like to be a god? Why had she ever hidden this, run from it? Every nerve in her body felt as though it glowed with life. She was drunk on the exhilaration, the power that flowed through her fingertips. The bloodlust fueled her enjoyment, adding a wash of good feeling to her mind and body whenever she pinned a struggling victim and ever so slowly peeled them apart. To be demonic was to be unstoppable.

"Val! Val!" A voice in the distance was calling to someone...someone familiar. No, to her. Val suddenly realized with a cold horror that she had forgotten her name.

It took a Herculean force of will to drag herself back away from the screaming, panicked former slaves and towards the sound of her name. As she went, she forced herself to shut away the link to the Abyss and banish the demon.

A strange, bleak gray numbness filled her world. Even the sounds of battle and her name being shouted seemed as though they were happening far away, to someone else. Only her pain kept her from just sliding to the ground and lying there, unmoving. She had to touch herself all over to realize what had happened, fingers ghosting from unmarred skin to wet patches of blood coming from open tears in her flesh. The pain when she hit a wound was like a jolt of lightning, suddenly anchoring her back to herself. She heard Kiaran call her name again and slammed her fist against the gash on her thigh. The powerful flash of agony gave her enough feeling to push through the apathy and move forward again.

"What in the Demonweb was that?" Kiaran said, grabbing her friend. There was a strange hollowness to Val's eyes that worried her. She slung one of the mage's arms over her shoulders to help her along. "Nevermind, we're out. What now?"

Val blinked at Kiaran like the priestess was a dream for a moment. Then another throb of pain from her wounded leg as she tried to step down knocked her back to lucid awareness. "Vandree, Alaenrahel, take rearguard. Double time to meet the others. Expect pursuit," she said sharply, imitating her mother's command voice as best she could. It seemed to work-people started moving like she'd said.

"Ryna's going to be pissed," Kiaran muttered, casting a spell of healing on the leg that was slowing Val down.

"Well, some things stay the same, at least," Val said with a wan smile, a humor that she didn't really feel still hanging in her voice.

"Mind if I ask why we did go back? Not that I mind. It's just...not what I expected from a noble," Kiaran admitted. She was a commoner by birth, but her family had held a favor from their house's line of nobility that secured her future at the Academy.

"You look after your own," Val said with a slight shrug.


	10. The Second Battle

"They're gone, probably back to the instructors," Kiaran reported, returning from the supposed meeting place ahead. The two priestesses among the rescued drow were busy healing the soldiers even as they struggled on with their own wounds. Everyone was weary and stiff, including Val.

"To be expected," Val said quietly, tightening the bandage around her upper leg. The others had been looking to her for direction and guidance, even now that they had escaped pursuit.

"What's that?" Kiaran said, noticing the tattered and blood-stained cloth tucked through Val's belt for the first time.

The mage smiled faintly, pulling it free. "I had almost forgotten. A memento of our success," she said, letting the cloth unfurl. It was the standard of their enemy, a light gray cloth painted with crude black symbols of the goblin tongue. "It wounded them to lose it. I took it off its bearer in the melee."

One of their watchmen, a young male from House Vandree who was skilled with sword and shield, came scrambling over the rocks. "Val, the enemy is coming. They found us!" he said, a touch of panic to his tone. "There are too many without the others."

Val sprang up to her feet as though she weren't wounded, knowing that if she showed even a hint of fear that the morale of their besieged friends would break. "Crossbows and mages up on the rocks to either side of the cavern," she ordered before looking at her scout. "How long do we have?"

"An hour at most-they're taking the long path here. But we can't keep running," the Vandree noble said.

"Time enough," Val said, taking a deep breath. For a moment, she pretended she was back in her mother's chambers studying the tactics of ancient drow battles. "Alright, Kyorlin, you know traps well. Turn the passage here into a nightmare. Tripwires, snares, anything you can do in an hour. Take Szordrin with you." Both rogues nodded and disappeared down the tunnel to plot their havoc. She pivoted to face her friend. "Kiaran, I know you're tired, but I need you to work on healing as much as you can. The more warriors in fighting condition we have, the better we'll do."

"Can you do that...thing you did in the cavern before again?" Kiaran asked, nodding her obedience to the order.

"Dangerous with these injuries, but I will if I have to," Val said firmly. "But I have a fair number of tricks still. Get the warriors to focus on defending the paths up to the ledges where our ranged forces are-they can only come two at a time at most there, and scaling the walls will leave them vulnerable to fire. Alright?"

When she looked around, she saw determination in the others. They hadn't panicked but instead began to focus on what they could do, splitting into two teams on either side of the long, narrow cavern to create a fatal funnel for the enemy to charge into. Some of the mages conjured pots and coaxed hot, smoking coals to life within, covering them with a lid and readying them on the edges to be kicked down onto the enemy. One of the priestesses had revealed a stash of daylight beads that they readied to lob into the foe as well.

As far as Val was concerned, this was war and not training. Their enemy would most certainly try to kill them, so that meant using every advantage available to tip things in their own favor. They barely had enough time to get everything ready. The howls down the tunnels that came flowing after the running figures of Kyorlin and Szordrin were their first warning.

"How did it go?" she asked them, helping them climb the slopes up with both hands since the surface had been covered in loose shale.

"Marvelous," Szordrin said with a grin, helping Kyorlin up. The second, younger rogue was staggering a little with a fresh arrow wound to his hip. "This one got himself nicked, granted, but he wasn't hiding too well. That'll teach him."

"The traps?"

"I reckon we'll have taken down their forces by about half a score by the time they reached it, and at least a handful will be walking wounded," Szordrin said, climbing up himself.

"Excellent," Val praised, feeling her spirits lift slightly. "Ky, take position with a crossbow. Szordrin, stay with me."

The chaos of goblinoids charging until they were almost trampling each other came spilling out into the cavern, only to find something worse than the traps colliding with them-fire and burning explosions of vivid light followed by a hail of fire from hand-crossbows with poison bolts. By the time they met the blades of the waiting drow warriors, deafening thunder and vicious lightning joined the fray from the mages. The elemental fury was incredible, battering and shattering the defenses of the screaming attackers.

Val found herself in the thick of the battle next to Kiaran and Szordrin, hurling dark magic at the enemy. A snarling, spitting face would rear in front of her as one lifted a weapon, only to have its kidneys eviscerated by the rogue's twin short swords. On her other side, Kiaran cast deftly to ensnare a ferocious bugbear in webs of necrotic energy and then hit him across the face with her mace with a crunch of facial bones.

The fighting was fierce all around, but the three of them stood strong like an island amid the chaos. Val gave orders from the thick by flashing shorthand messages by casting glowing symbols in faerie fire or painting valuable targets in it.

A stray blow of an orc's club caught Kiaran in the ribs, sending the priestess flying backwards. "Szordrin, get her!" Val shouted even as she channeled negative energy in her hands and threw herself at the foe responsible who was trying to close on the wounded cleric. She grabbed the orc's face, flesh withering under her touch and crumbling away like dust as he shrieked and tried to wound her. Fortunately, she was inside his long reach at a place where his weapon became unwieldy.

The rogue sprang like an acrobat, neatly shooting between a troll's legs to grab the priestess and yank her back. "I'm alive," Kiaran groaned, knowing there was no time for her to nurse her broken ribs. With the male's help, she got up to her feet. "Where the hell did Val go?"

The mage had vanished into the crowd, grabbing up a broken spear with half its haft in each hand. She was surrounded, moving with unnatural agility as she lashed out with the jagged edge of wood and a spearhead. It was a struggle to keep them back, but she did her best to fight towards where she knew her friends were. Every successful stab and slash called to her lower nature, sometimes sparking a vicious grin or a laugh that felt almost alien-not hers at all.

"Better go get her," Szordrin said with a smile, tapping his blades together with a small clink. "Can't have our fearless leader getting killed."

Kiaran nodded and took a deep breath, raising the holy symbol of Lloth still clutched in her off hand as she called upon the Goddess through a sharp incantation. Invisible talons rent the air, slicing into the mass of hobgoblins, bugbears, and orcs. Even the troll charging at them was not immune. It only killed a few, merely wounding most.

The rogue took his chance then, hurtling through the gaps between bugbears as he made his way towards the flashes of magic in the press of bodies. After clobbering a goblin with his sword-hilt, he broke into the clear circle around the mage and twisted, settling his back against hers.

"Couldn't have dropped back in sooner, could you?" Val managed.

"I think of it as being fashionably late," Szordrin said cheerfully, dropping into a crouch and hamstringing the nearest orc.

With the rogue watching her back, Val felt much more secure. Kiaran was quick to rejoin them as well, reaching over to heal them both briefly before focusing her attention again on fighting with her mace. The tide of the battle was turning swiftly against the orcs with the focused fire of crossbows and the dedicated fury of the mages and warriors.

The wave broke and receded, wounded goblinoids fleeing back down the passage from whence they'd come. The victorious drow let out a few cheers and shouted insults despite their exhaustion and injuries. Val watched the enemy go, swaying slightly on her feet until Szordrin grabbed her shoulder and steadied her.

"I think that went rather well," he said with an irrepressibly good humor.

"All the same, I'd like not to repeat it," Kiaran grumbled as she walked with them back to the others, cradling her wounded ribs as much as she could. "We need to rest before we can even think about catching up with Ryna."

"Agreed," Val said softly. She cleared her throat and then called out, "Everyone, take our casualties and move out further down the path to the next camp site. Then everyone gets some food and sleep."

It wasn't a long walk, but Val was grateful when it was over. She directed the clerics to focus on the worst of their wounded. Two dead students had been touched with spells of gentle repose and their bodies laid out for a return to their families, but at least there were only two. The talking in the camp was a faint chatter to her tired ears and Val just about collapsed into her bedroll.

By the time morning came, her whole body was an aching knot of protesting muscle and battered bone. She could barely get up for the stiffness but forced herself on anyway. They'd clearly made it through the night without incident, if the peaceful breakfast of the other drow was any indication. "How far are we from the exit?" she asked, limping over to where Kiaran and Szordrin were studying the map.

"Not even an hour. We did good," Kiaran said, tapping the paper with a slender finger. "We'll be late, though."

"Better late than never," the rogue said sagely. "We got out alive and more than that, we beat the enemy. The instructors will approve."

"Valyne Duskryn," a voice said with quiet firmness.

Val turned to see one of the warriors standing before her. The tall, lithe female wore the sigil of the city's second House, Barrison Del'Armgo. The mage bowed slightly as was proper when addressing a higher noble female, at least with her rank as an arcane spellcaster. "Is there a problem, Tathlyn?"

The warrior was quiet for a moment, her expression conflicted. "I am...a friend of Ryna Faen Tlabbar. Yet you came for us and she did not," the priestess said with a slow deliberation. "I owe you a great deal and I will not forget it. But more than that, I think that I would rather follow you than her."

Val was startled, but did her best not to show it. Instead, she held out a hand to the tall female. "It is an honor, Tathlyn Barrison Del'Armgo. Allow me to introduce you to Kiaran Alaenrahel and Szordrin Mizzrym."

The rogue sprang to his feet and gave the confused warrior a sweeping bow with a bit of a flourish. "The pleasure is all mine, Mistress Tathlyn," he purred with an arch smile.

"He does that," Kiaran said as a warning, offering the warrior a soft smile. "I saw you in battle. You seem to know your way around that flail."

The stern-faced noble of Barrison Del'Armgo cracked a small smile, hand coming to rest on the vicious weapon at her belt. "It is effective," Tathlyn said simply. "I hope to demonstrate that to Ryna Faen Tlabbar when we catch up to her. I am less than pleased with being left to die."


	11. Even

G'eldorl and an instructor from Arach-Tinilith-the fearsome and unforgiving Revered Akordia-met the returning students with flat expressions. "You are barely more than half the proper number. Where are the others, Ryna?" Akordia said as sharply as the crack of a whip. Her ruby eyes were narrowed.

"Dead. Does it matter? We survived the trial, they did not," Ryna said, hardly caring that she sounded callous. After all, it was the nature of the drow to quickly discard the dead as failures.

"Survival is indeed the measure of victory. However, I find it interesting that you succeeded where Sorcere's finest did not," G'eldorl said, glancing over at Akordia. He knew the academy mistress would likely take offense, but hoped she wouldn't show it.

His hopes were swiftly dashed as the priestess rounded on him, raising an eyebrow. "Do you truly mean to suggest that one of your mages is superior to Arach-Tinilith's students?" she said warningly.

"That was not my intent, Revered Akordia," he said smoothly. "Forgive me."

"Have I passed?" Ryna asked impatiently, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she tried not to glare at the male instructor for his pointless delays.

Someone cleared their throat softly from behind the priestess. "I believe there's something we have to settle first," Val said, rounding the corner with Kiaran, Szordrin, and Tathlyn at her heels. The rest of the students followed close behind, all of them with murder in their eyes.

G'eldorl chuckled slightly. "It seems you were incorrect in your estimation, Ryna. A fatal tactical oversight, I fear," he said smoothly.

Tathlyn's flail was in her hand, flanged heads swinging in a small arc with the faintest clink of chain against chain. "May I?" she said, looking not to Ryna but to Val instead. There was a ferocious eagerness in her expression that spoke of a powerful thirst for revenge.

Ryna thought quickly, plastering a surprised smile on her face. "Tathlyn, you're alive! I had feared the worst."

"Yes, I live. No thanks to you," Tathlyn said coldly, teeth gleaming white as she gave her former friend a decidedly unfriendly grin. "The test is incomplete. The Academy prohibitions against slaying other students do not apply."

"There are instructors right there!" Ryna snapped. "You can be killed for attempting murder in front of witnesses."

Akordia smiled cruelly, then turned her head to her fellow instructor. "G'eldorl, do you see anything amiss?"

"No, Revered Akordia," the male mage said pleasantly before taking several steps back to clear a space.

"That's not fair!"

Val shrugged. "Since when is being drow even remotely fair?" she said. "You have two choices, Ryna. You can face Tathlyn, or you can kiss her boot here where everyone can see and proclaim her your better for surviving the trial without advantage. These are the terms."

Tathlyn laughed and looked sidelong at the child of House Duskryn. "I like the way you think, mage. I gladly accept the terms."

Ryna's face was dark with righteous indignation. "Neither. I will duel you, worm-tongued mage, and offer your soul to Lloth."

G'eldorl felt a sudden shiver run down his spine as Val's whole affect changed to a much darker nature. The normally quiet girl's lip curled in a sneering disdain, gray eyes hinting at something beyond this plane. He felt a strange magic curling in the air, a corruption seeping into the stones she stood on.

The urges were back. Val felt her fingers flex as if they were claws, idly wondering how sweet the suffering of this foolish foe would taste. The pain from her wounds that had been keeping her in check was now faded thanks to Kiaran's healing. "I am not honor-bound to duel a spineless coward," Valyne said, feeling the slow and wonderful burn of power seeping out into her limbs. It gave her the confidence of a Matron. "Tathlyn, she is yours. I have no desire to touch vermin."

The cruelty of her speech was kinder than the lust for battle surging through her veins. Val didn't want to tear Ryna to shreds in front of everyone, nor did she want to deprive Tathlyn of her very legitimate vengeance.

However, the young cleric looked anything but satisfied. She hurled a web spell at Tathlyn, tangling the fighter in ensnaring strands thick with necrotic energy. She was quick to close distance with Val, swinging with her mace.

Val dropped into a crouch, catching herself with her hands and knees. Then as quickly as she had fallen, she sprang up at an angle that smashed her shoulder into Ryna's ribs. It was not a fight of beautiful perfection and seamless technique-it was a fight of pure savagery and viciousness. Even the priestess in her rage was taken aback by the idea that such a fragile creature as a mage would be willing to go toe to toe unarmed against her.

Val had not survived so long by being soft. Her open hands struck like blades, chopping into nerve clusters and relentlessly pressing the advantage with sheer brutality. Her fingernails lashed out across Ryna's face like tearing claws, seeking any purchase. Her elbows and knees became like clubs. Inside the range of the priestess's arms, there was no room for the mace or for spell-casting.

Ryna knew it too and dropped her mace, seizing a fist full of Val's hair and yanking as she scrabbled for the dagger sheathed horizontally at the back of her belt. The mage punched out with a closed fist, hitting Ryna's throat with a sickening crunch. The cleric released her grip and staggered back, clutching at the crushed windpipe that made her struggle to even breathe. It was a wound that could be healed, if permitted.

Val bent down and picked up the mace, her scalp burning as if aflame. She turned her head to Akordia and G'eldorl. "The rules of the Academy apply, do they not?" she said quietly. "This one will need healing."

Revered Akordia's face was stern. "The Goddess does not tolerate failure. Kill her and be done with it."

Val hefted the mace in one hand. It was a deceptively light weapon of war, but a powerful one. She could see the fear in the cleric's eyes when she approached, readying a swing. She brought it down in a powerful arc, smashing into the earth just a hair's breadth from Ryna's head. And then she let the weapon fall from her fingers. "I am not the Spider Queen," Val said quietly. She turned on her heel. "Kiaran, she needs healing now. See to it."

"Foolish child. You have shown yourself to be weak," Akordia said scornfully as she stared at the young mage.

"I held her life in my hands," Val said bleakly, turning away from the priestess. "She lives a my pleasure, and may die at my pleasure. If that is weak, so be it."

The spell holding Tathlyn crumbled away without concentration to maintain it, but she did not make a move on the downed priestess who was quickly improving with Kiaran's healing magic. "Would that I could have killed her," the warrior said almost longingly before looking to Val. "Are you certain she should live?"

"Until it pleases me that she should die, yes," the mage said, rubbing the heel of her hand absentmindedly. The buzz of conversation returned to the air now that the trial of combat was over.

"You are a strange one," Tathlyn said, cocking her head slightly in study of the Duskryn noble. "I do not know quite what to make of you, but I have seen you in battle three times now. And that is three times I have decided firmly to never be on the opposite side from you. You know that Ryna will likely never forgive you for this."

"Should I care? She has proven herself a singularly ineffective foe," Valyne said with a shrug. "Next time she tries, though, you are welcome to put an end to it."

"I will do so gladly," Tathlyn promised. She looked over almost longingly at the fallen drowess, but made no move to go and finish the job. "Until then, I will accept your decision."


	12. Homecoming

Zekatar could tell that the Matron was in an unusually good mood when he stepped into her chambers as summoned, which offered him a great deal of relief. As far as priestesses went she was something of a rarity in that she indulged her sadistic tendencies almost as rarely as she smiled at him, but he still walked lightly around her. It struck him as considerably strange, the way she hummed softly as she worked through the missives held by a subdued and silent gnome slave.

The grizzled warrior relaxed into the doorframe, observing for a long moment before finally speaking. "You seem pleased, Matron."

"Indeed I am," Siniira said, motioning him in. "Do you remember that small child you claimed would amount to nothing? She has in fact amounted to a great deal of something and will be returning to us this rising of Narbondel as Sorcere's first."

"Yet not a priestess still," Zekatar said dismissively. Realistically, he knew the achievement was dangerous to his daughters, as neither had succeeded so well at Arach-Tinilith. Siniira was a woman concerned with results, and so the little whelp's achievements were no doubt greatly endearing.

"I'm certain she'll positively glow at such praise," the Matron said. The fact that she used sarcasm instead of biting malice indicated that she was in such a fine mood she would tolerate even his spite untroubled. It worried Zekatar for many reasons.

Siniira Duskryn, over all the years that they had known each other, had always been a markedly cold woman. Many times he wondered even if she chose him as Patron out of desire rather than political acumen and knowledge of the need of an heir. The assassination attempt that had failed only rendered her more closed off to all of his careful prying, almost as if she could sense the truth-his complicity in the plot. He retained his title but lost any influence he might have wielded when he was summarily exiled from her bed.

And yet, she had looked at a wretched, sickly infant with an affection he could not even begin to fathom. When the girl grew, her attentions did not fade. Was it the knowledge that Valyne was the last child she would ever have that drew her like a moth to a flame? Did she see something of her own past that was unknown to him in those inauspicious beginnings? Or was that affection a calculated plan of vengeance against him and the superior daughters he had sired?

"I have never understood why you favor her so. Would you care to indulge me with an explanation?" Zekatar said almost absently, though beneath the surface he was probing for any information. Zesstra had told him of the encounter she had with Valyne at Sorcere and the girl's strange fixation upon the House rather than personal gain. An anathema to him if there ever was one, but a delusion that Siniira had held for much of her adult life. He supposed it made her a fine leader, though it meant Duskryn was a house of incredibly fine troops and a wealth of resources, yet low status in the Upper Third without the ambition and risk that came with a self-serving Matron Mother. He imagined that if Lirayne or even Zesstra wore the iron crown instead, they could do great things with the power base Siniira had cultivated over centuries.

The Matron dipped her stylus in the inkwell with a delicate care. "Get used to disappointment, Zekatar," she said smoothly as she finished the document she was working on with a spidery signature and then sprinkled very fine grains of salt over the ink to absorb the excess. "Now you are free to return to your duties. I will be with Valyne if you need me."

* * *

For Valyne, the climb of the grand steps to House Duskryn's audience hall was a bittersweet endeavor. Her childhood home remained as she remembered it with fondness, as grand and impressive as it had been when she was small. But she walked the steps almost a wholly different person. The wide eyed innocence she had brought with her to Sorcere was such a distant memory she could not even recall what the world had seemed like. Now it was grim and dark, her return less of a relief and more of a prelude to a great war to come within her own family. Zesstra and Lirayne both undoubtedly had designs on the Matron's throne.

She knew what she should have felt-a desire to do the same. But in her heart there was a singular softness she felt towards her mother. Only one person in her family had ever considered her worth the investment of time, and that was Siniira. Now that she was home, she would undoubtedly become her mother's agent. However odd it was, she found the idea pleasing.

Without thinking, she touched the ruby ring on her hand and brushed her thumb over the stone that formed her house's symbol. It was the only thing of her past that seemed entirely real and solid. As she had progressed through her studies and honed her gift, she had gradually become aware of a soft resonance in the stone that whispered to her of a dark corner of the Abyss that belonged to the drow. It was the same as the magic she detected whenever she walked near priestesses. But that Abyssal link brought her some measure of calm and control if she focused on it.

She looked up abruptly when she heard footsteps. Her expression softened slightly as she met her mother's eyes. The Matron had not aged a day since she departed House Duskryn, or so it seemed.

"Valyne, are you well?" Matron Siniira said with a touch of genuine concern, studying her daughter intently. The powerful cleric's senses almost reeled at the raw power in the girl standing in front of her. But more than that, there was a great darkness just beneath the surface that had not been in her daughter when she left.

"I am well enough, Matron," Val said with a small bow. Anything to avoid looking into those worried gray eyes. It was touching that someone was concerned about her, but it also prompted a surge of guilt. "And very grateful to be home."

"It is good to have you back," Siniira said, relaxing slightly. She could take a hint-it was not something the young drowess was ready to discuss. Perhaps in time, provided no one gave her cause to close off. "Your performance at Sorcere was exemplary, a credit to the house and our family. I hope you plan on bringing such zeal to your new duties here."

"Always, Matron." Val smiled with her old enthusiasm, feeling a spark of excitement cut through all of her ruminations.

"Walk with me, then. We have much to discuss," the Matron said. It was a relief to see such spirit still endured despite the grimness of Sorcere and the weight her youngest clearly carried. "Tell me how your studies were."

Val felt the familiar energy of being in the presence of an equal-if not superior-mind and talked at length with an animation that her classmates might not have recognized. She was open with the Matron in a way she was not with others, feeling above all else a shared purpose. The two of them made a content pair, chatting as their feet took them to all of the familiar places of Val's youth and the rounds of House Duskryn itself.

And that did anything but relieve those who watched.

"What in the Demonweb does she think she's playing at?" Lirayne said darkly, leaning against a pillar and watching the two retreating figures. Without Siniira's vast experience and finely honed senses, the darkness in Valyne was invisible at present to her siblings.

Mourndar shrugged, rubbing along his handsome jaw. "I think she's your competition, sister, just as much as Zesstra."

Lirayne scoffed. "Oh yes? And tell me, wizard, since when can one of you become Matron?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you didn't know? A few very select female mages have attained that status in history, but they had to have a close connection to the Abyss and the Demonweb as well as a perfect knowledge of the Spider Queen's rites. And judging by the books our dear little sister had sent home ahead of herself, those are things she does indeed possess."

The fiery drowess rounded on her brother, seizing him by the front of his robes and smashing him against the wall. "You lie," Lirayne hissed out between clenched teeth.

"If you break it, you buy it," Mourndar chided gently, peeling his sister's fingers off of him. "Zesstra may be your most formidable enemy, but she isn't the only one any more. And she certainly isn't the apple of the Matron's eye or however that delightful surface saying goes."

"You should be grateful I haven't crushed you, worm," Lirayne snarled. "Does Zesstra know of what you've told me?"

"She's a smart woman with access to a library. I'd say she's figured it out by now," the male wizard said casually.

Lirayne turned away from him, stroking her ear in thought. "Every fortification has a weakness. People are no different," she said quietly. "I won't lose to Zesstra, and I certainly won't lose to a jumped up little mage. This just means the plan has changed."

"Allow me to draw your attention to the core point," Mourndar said with a half smile. "As long as the Matron's alive, you won't have the throne no matter how cleverly you handle Zesstra and Valyne."

"A fair point. Run along, wizard," Lirayne said dismissively.

Mourndar only made it around three corners before almost stumbling into Zesstra, who was leaning against the wall with a placid smile. "Sister," he greeted with an inclination of his head.

"Brother," Zesstra acknowledged. "I hear Lirayne wrinkled your robes in one of her temper tantrums."

"She's distracted from you now because of Valyne," Mourndar reported. He knew where the smart money lay, and it wasn't with Lirayne. "And nothing that won't come out with an iron and some water."

"I wish you good luck with your fabric," Zesstra said with a little smile that signaled his message had been received. "I will admit that I'm eager to see what happens once our youngest finds her feet here at home. The stories from Sorcere are quite outlandish. The reality should be refreshing. Until later, brother."


	13. For the Future

Val doubled over in her quarters, hands slamming into the stone table with bruising force. "Tell me how to undo it, damn you!" she shouted as she spun around. It was the first time she had summoned Malcanthet since she left for the Academy, and the succubus seemed to have grown even more smug over the years. But perhaps that was because youthful naïveté and willing blindness had been stripped away, allowing her to see the machinating monster beneath.

"Undo what, sweet thing?" Malcanthet purred, lounging in the chair with her legs draped one over the other. She sat with the back of the chair to the side of her hips, allowing her wings to rest over one arm. Her long sinuous tail flicked restlessly as she combed her clawed fingers through her flame colored hair.

"This...this thing you taught me is changing me. There is a monster inside of me and what happens when I cannot stop it from coming out? I don't want this." Val felt a sickness churning in her stomach even as a part of her wanted to leap at the succubus and tear into that pale flesh, to make blood run down the chair onto the stone.

"Oh, but you do. You wanted power. You wanted to be respected, even feared. You wanted to win your Matron's admiration," Malcanthet said simply. "I showed you a way to gain it and you chose to use it."

"What choice was there?" Val said fiercely. "I might have died. I had no one to rely on. I thought it was a way out."

"That's justification, sweet thing. You're in a situation of your own making, cursed by free will. And before you get carried away, that monster of yours was always there," the succubus said. Her tone and smile were perfectly pleasant. "Your birthright is darkness. It has always been inside of you. When you embraced and learned to use the demonic, you awoke it within you. Consider yourself a perfect child of Lloth, evil and chaotic."

"Why am I meant to be dark?" the mage asked quietly, knowing that what Malcanthet said was at least partially true. She had made her own fate. She had chosen to accept the gift the demon offered, however weak and foolish it was. To surrender it now would be a death sentence, facing competition with her own siblings. "If I have the freedom to choose, why can't I be rid of this?"

Malcanthet rose and prowled over, brushing her tail over the back of Val's legs as she settled an arm around the drowess's stiff shoulders. "Because deep down, you do want it. You like to kill. You like to see weak little creatures, pathetic drow, writhe under your claws in agony. You like to know that in their last moments when their strength crumbled, they wept for their mothers and died terribly alone," she whispered.

"That's a lie," Val said sharply, pulling away.

The succubus laughed. "As it pleases you to think, sweet thing. But you were not meant to build, to create. Destruction and death are your purpose, dark magic and demonic prowess your instruments. You want to be like your Matron Mother, but you are not her. You are more than she could ever be. For you, the Abyss intended a higher purpose."

Val felt a primal growl claw its way up her throat and escape, an explosion of black fury expanding out from her heart. "I am not your pawn any more, Malcanthet," she said, leveling a finger at the demon. "Be gone."

Banished, the succubus wavered and disappeared from sight. Val pulled in a deep breath as she struggled to calm herself. The desire to kill something, to rend it into pieces, was almost overwhelming. But now was not an appropriate time or place to vent it. She had learned that she had to give in eventually. On the battlefield was the ideal place for channeling demonic fury into a useful function.

She was finally calm again a few hours later when the Matron sent for her. She made certain that she was perfectly presentable before walking towards her mother's study.

"I'm here, Matron," she said respectfully, stopping at the doorway.

"Come in, Valyne, and close the door," Siniira said before turning in her seat. Her youngest had been home only a week and things already seemed to be back to normal. "I wanted to talk to you now that you have your bearings. It is important that our conversation stay between the two of us."

"Of course," Val said, approaching the table that Siniira was standing at. Spread across the surface of exotic hardwood from the surface was an incredibly detailed map of Menzoberranzan and its outlying areas. It was a blend of artistry and accuracy very rare to find.

"The nature of drow is contrary to order, as you know from your time at the Academy. In fact, the tendency to selfishness and disregard for law is perhaps the only constant to our race," Siniira said quietly. "Our life, our stability, is maintained only by a balance. Should any one person strive to upset this by being too ambitious or too brazen, they risk sending the entire unorthodox empire of the drow to the ground. This is why the Goddess does not favor open warfare. Do you understand?"

Val clasped her hands behind her back, eyes focused on the map. "Yes, Matron."

"Good. There are certain endeavors of the utmost importance that I cannot trust to Zesstra and Lirayne. Political maneuverings and military exploits, things that require finesse at one time and brutality the next. I have very many eyes and ears in the city and beyond already. What I need is a hand," Siniira explained before looking to her daughter. "Will you do this for me?"

Another choice, Val realized, as important as when she had taken up binding. Taking such an offer would mean no failures and no excuses. It would also make her directly the enemy of her sisters by becoming the Matron's sword and shield. It meant surrendering dreams of advancement and ambition in favor of duty to the House.

"I will, Matron," Val said, hand resting over her heart as she bowed slightly.

It was worth it just for the pride in the Matron's eyes when she smiled. "I am fortunate indeed to have you here with me again, Valyne. Your first task will be to go to Huelar Outpost. Nearby there is a duergar settlement currently engaged in a war against another enemy, an aboleth and its minions. Either force could very well cripple our operations through the area if they made peace, and they are on the verge of working out a truce. Your duty is to give them cause to continue fighting by raiding each under the guise of the other."

"It will be done," the mage promised. "I'll prepare tonight and depart on the morrow."

Valyne had much to reflect upon during her walk back, but she felt partially relieved. If nothing else, maybe this was a way she could prove Malcanthet wrong and rise above what the succubus claimed was her nature. After all, she was building and maintaining something. Creating a future instead of destroying one. Certainly, there would be mayhem and murder aplenty in her future but it would be for a reason, a purpose.

Mourndar was in her chambers, perusing her bookshelf. The intrusion irritated her greatly even though she didn't show it. "Can I help you, or have I become the House library without my knowledge?" she said with a casual air, closing the door behind her.

"I thought I'd drop in and warn you that Lirayne has her sights set on you. One mage to another," Mourndar said casually, turning around. It was galling to not be able to read the spines of some of those books. His younger sister clearly expended a great deal of effort and resources to obtain them.

Val raised an eyebrow at that. He obviously had some kind of agenda, though what it was she could only guess. Apparently he hadn't realized that she wasn't some trusting child anymore. "Really?" she said almost innocently, tilting her head at him in a silent request for elaboration.

"She thinks you're going to try to sabotage her plans for taking the crown," the wizard said, assuming that she had taken the hook.

"Whatever gave her that idea?" Val said, not at all as astonished as she sounded. She had no reason to trust her brother, particularly not when he had invariably aligned himself with either Lirayne or Zesstra. "I'll take that under advisement, Mourndar."

"You'd be better off taking the battle to her," the wizard said.

Now it was almost obvious. Val was embarrassed on her brother's behalf at his lack of subtlety. He meant to pose as her friend while directing her into a situation that would benefit only Zesstra. It was fairly clear whose team he was playing for.

"You misunderstand me," Val said with a faint smile. "I don't honestly care what Lirayne thinks or does. I have more important things to attend to. Now off you go." Her dismissal had a lightness she didn't feel, almost playful in nature. She did fully intend to keep an eye on Lirayne, but she had no intention of exposing herself in some kind of clandestine warfare. The Matron's goals were her own now.


	14. Warmaker

"I don't like the fact that we're taking orders from some jumped up mage. That's all," Keldzar said bluntly, turning over his greatsword to inspect it for marring. Yet despite the ferocity of the training bout exercise along with his squad-mates, the honed adamantine remained unblemished. It was a testament to the fine make of the gift from his father.

"She's not a priestess. I'd call that a win," one of his comrades said with a shrug. They all knew that Keldzar had spent more than his fair share of time at the whims and pleasures of the Spider Queen's daughters. It made him mean and hard even though they normally left his body in tact.

"She's a noble," he retorted hotly. "They're all the same. Entitled and bloody useless."

A chill silence descended over his squad as they stared at him with horrified eyes. Keldzar turned abruptly and found himself glaring into eyes like burnished steel. The female drow was smaller than she looked, but she was still the daughter of a Matron. For commentary like that, a very thorough flogging was the least punishment to be offered.

Val cleared her throat. "Are you quite finished?" she asked the male with a flatness that surprised him. Her temper seemed to be doing anything but rising. Even the Revered Zesstra wasn't so forgiving despite her calm demeanor.

"I am, Mistress," he said, doing his best to keep his surly temperament out of his tone.

"Captain?" she said, looking over her shoulder at their commander.

Keldzar braced himself for the order of punishment. "Yes, my lady?" the officer said, stiffening up. He was a fine commander and a good soldier, enough of one that sometimes Keldzar felt ashamed of himself for doing things that reflected badly on the man. This was not one of those moments, though. His resentment burned too hotly.

"Are we prepared to leave now?" Val asked, leaving the particularly angry male suddenly flabbergasted. He didn't know how to deal with her, which was something of the point. "Time is precious."

"Of course, my lady," the Captain said with a slight bow. He seemed grateful that Kalzar had been spared punishment. He fell in step with Val after the customary shouting of a squadron starting on the move. "Kalzar's a good soldier, my lady. His mouth just gets away from him sometimes."

"I don't particularly care for his opinion, so it bothers me little," Val said with a shrug. Sorcere had taught her the value of simply allowing things to roll off her shoulders. Petty words meant nothing compared to deeds and she still had that guiding mission hanging above her head. Beneath the surface of her thoughts, she was aware of that omnipresent darkness and its insatiable appetite for destruction. At least that would be indulged on the field, though likely vicariously. This was a battle where she wouldn't need to lead from the front.

Their passage in the darkness was uncannily silent, armor flexing and bending to every movement without a sound. It was a ruse that Valyne had aligned herself-signals left in advance for the aboleth's minions that intruders had crossed the territory boundary, while the duergar were lured in by rumor of a vulnerable svirfneblin caravan. With tensions running high, no one would simply stop to talk.

Two of the aboleth's scouts, repugnant humanoids of scabrous flesh oozing a foul slime, were the first to arrive. Silently, Val turned to four of the Captain's men and cast a spell of polymorph over each in turn. They now appeared to be four powerfully built duergar.

"The creature will see their deaths through their eyes. You need not leave a survivor," Val ordered, directing them in.

The fight was fearsome, but brief. After the two scouts were very much dead, a few of the male drow scrunched up their faces and carried the slimy bodies. Then they retreated a bit further down the tunnels.

This was the difficult portion. Val knew that the duergar wouldn't attack unless they were certain of victory, which would be impossible if anything seemed awry. That posed the problem of how to conjure this imaginary caravan. The solution, of course, was to find an actual svirfneblin caravan and offer them mercenary protection. The poor gnomes were perhaps rightly terrified of the drow and accepted the deal with much scrutiny.

"Trouble further down the passage?" one of the gnome crossbowmen said quietly, eyeing Val and the others as they moved into camp. The two slimy bodies had been dumped in the cavern a short distance from the little circle of wagons pulled by sturdy rothé.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," the Captain said with a shrug. The noble had moved a short distance away and seated herself on a rock, gazing out into the darkness.

"What the hell are we doing guarding these little rats?" Kalzar muttered fiercely, glaring at the gnomes with such an intensity that most of them broke his gaze and watched him sidelong with discomfort. "We should have wiped out this caravan."

"Perhaps they carry something important. I'm not going to argue with the Matron's daughter. You can ask her if you want to die," the Captain said, giving Kalzar a bit of a shove in that direction.

Rather than retreating, the male stalked over to the mage. Kalzar was handsome save for some scarring around his right eye, tall and leanly muscled like many men of his race. His red eyes were full of a hateful fire directed at the entire world constantly. It made him a difficult creature to like, though he was a bit better with his fellows. They accepted him for his combat prowess and usefulness if nothing else.

Val heard the sound of approaching footsteps and looked up at the hostile male. "Yes?" she said.

He supposed he might have hated her less if she wasn't attractive. It galled him that his mind and body reacted to what was basically an enemy in disguise. But she also baffled him still. Why hadn't he been rebuked as was customary? What did that prove? "What are we doing here, Mistress?" he growled out, the honorific as automatic as it was distasteful. "We're protecting worthless little gnomes now?"

The drowess almost smiled in amusement, familiar with the bristling insecurity that faced her now. She'd met it many times in Sorcere in classmates. "We are waiting, Kalzar," she said without reproach, turning her eyes to the darkness. "Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?"

As was his custom, and the cause of most of his beatings, Kalzar spoke his mind. "Why did you do nothing earlier?" he demanded, forgetting himself.

"Would it change your mind if I had ordered you thrashed? No. Besides, one does not demand respect. It is earned. I want you to follow orders, that is all," she said calmly. "Hate me if it pleases you."

He looked at her dumbfounded. No female had ever told him anything like that. Most of them really only wanted his body anyway and seemed to enjoy watching him helplessly struggling to vent his humiliated rage. The noble in front of him seemed oddly peaceful compared to them. Perhaps that was Sorcere's training. But as a veteran, he could tell there was a tension underneath, a roiling anticipation of battle that settled into her muscles and drew them tight.

Unthinking, he sat down on the stone next to the female and looked out into the darkness. "How long do we wait?" he asked quietly, the fiery breath knocked out of him for a moment.

Val inhaled deeply, allowing herself to reach down into her own darkness. She could smell steel. And more than that, an invisible foe that chilled the blood of the svirfneblin and lured the duergar ever closer to a certain death: fear. "They're coming. Hide yourself and tell the others to be ready." She flipped up her deep hood and pulled up a cloth mask that hid the lower half of her face. Now her identity as a drow was well hidden. The duergar would expect nothing.

She could see them now as gray shapes in the darkness, the soft clinks of armor betraying their movements. Val had moved to one of the pillars of stone and flattened herself against it. The light leather armor she wore was not black, but mottled dark gray that blended seamlessly with the stone. The other drow lay in wait for the attack to begin, virtually invisible like true hunters of the Underdark.

Val drew a long, lethal stiletto with a smoked blade that had no glint to give her away and held it against her side. The duergar crept past her with soft rattles, completely oblivious to the drow female only a few feet away.

The last one hesitated slightly, creating a gap between himself and his fellows. Val struck, snatching him and pulling him back with her gloved hand over his mouth to muffle his cries. The long dagger pierced through the joint of his heavy armor between the neck and helmet when she stabbed him over and over again with viciously twisting movements. Arterial blood came out so fast it was almost spraying out, splashing all over them both. The copper tang filling the air awoke the dark hungers that had been sleeping beneath the surface of her mind. His struggles were quickly turning into useless twitches. When he jerked and finally stilled, she lowered him gently to the ground without a sound.

It was all so quiet that his fellows walking ahead hadn't even noticed. She waved her hand in a brief cantrip conjuration, ghost sound.

"Now," she whispered all the way across the camp, in the Captain's ear.

The duergar had come expecting a svirfneblin caravan, not a drow patrol. Their first and only warning was when the two in the front fell gurgling with crossbow bolts through their throats. The dwarven commander roared, "Charge!"

Svirfneblin scattered out of the way as the two forces collided in a crashing din. Kalzar seemed to have a grudge against every duergar he fought, ferocity combining with his greatsword into lethal arcs of unstoppable steel. He was far stronger than the average drow with his densely muscled form and used it as well as leverage to crack helms and break limbs. His was a weapon of brutality, not finesse.

Val hurled herself into the thick of, much to Kalzar's great surprise, hurling fireballs and using touch spells to drain the life from or rot away the flesh of their foes. He was used to spell casters who feared wound and would hold back to cast from a distant position. This female was leading very much from the front with zeal, lips curved into a smile as she hurled a seed of flame into the midst of the enemy only to see it explode into a ball of flame just before contact.

An axe slashed across one arm, drawing blood. Val felt a demonic laugh bubble out of her throat, almost a low growl. She hit the duergar responsible with a blast of withering cold straight to his helm and more specifically, his eyes. The gray dwarf howled miserably and staggered back.

"This is your idea of a good time, then?" Kalzar shouted at her, bulling through the ranks to meet the mage in the middle.

"Stick around and you'll find out," Val said breathlessly, the exertion of combat making her lungs work double time. It was incredibly difficult to keep up this level of energy for so long without binding.

"Not bad for a spell caster," Kalzar said with a grudging respect. He still didn't like or trust the female, but he could certainly respect the fact that she was a formidable for.

"High praise from a sword-swinger," the drowess said casually, brushing her hair back out of her face. "Maybe nobles aren't all so useless after all."

"Now let's not get hasty..."

Their conversation was broken by the rallying of the decimated dwarves for a last attack.

The gray dwarves fought to nearly the last man, but even those who tried to surrender were cut down brutally by the drow and left strewn about the cavern with the dead, slimy bodies of the aboleth's servants. The ground was scuffed and churned like a much larger battle, but the marks of boots were quickly lost in the dust with a few sweeps of a cloak.

"Are we done here, my lady?" the Captain asked, his lean face respectful when he approached the female drow.

"Yes," Val said, surveying the scene. It wasn't perfect, but it was close. Only time would tell if it fooled both parties.

While she was studying it, Kalzar studied her. This was a female worth keeping an eye on. She was different and that made her dangerous.


	15. Mind Games

The war between the duergar and the aboleth near Huelar Outpost was the first of numerous victories for Valyne Duskryn. Every mission was a challenge but also a lesson in how to navigate the byzantine and endless machinations that kept Menzoberranzan's tumultuous peace. She began to see that what most considered alliances and rivalries were actually an interlocking network of debts and needs that spanned across the whole of the dark city and were the foundation of every political play and faction.

She was becoming more of a figure in the house and knew well that it frightened her sisters. The Matron encouraged her to lead patrols and expeditions, winning influential friends within the House's military despite Zekatar's attempts to sabotage her. If anything, some of the soldiers were drawn to her solely to spite him.

Except for Kalzar. She worked alongside him often now that he had been promoted to captain, but he seemed to resent everything she did. Most of the time she shrugged it off, but once or twice she'd walked away before doing something that she'd regret. It was difficult not to surrender to her anger, but she knew that if she ever raised her fist against him that he would never forget it. Why he had to be so difficult was a mystery-he was intelligent, capable, and could even be charming if he turned off the hatred for a minute. She preferred it when they were in battle and all pretenses vanished, where for a few hours he forgot himself and they shared a sort of camaraderie.

And now, sitting across the table from her mother as they played _shelza ir,_ she was feeling the distraction. Her forces on the board were crumbling under the onslaught of her mother, a far poorer game than she usually played. They were nearly even now in skill, though Siniira still won more often than not.

"Your flank is collapsing," Siniira observed, her eyes focused on her daughter's ebony pieces across the board. Each represented a kind of unit, including spies.

Val shrugged and they passed a few turns in silence save for the clicking of pieces. The younger drowess's tactics had become more bold instead of more tentative, gambling victory on taking out the command of her opponent. Siniira seemed pleased, even as she was forced to abandon that crumbling flank to protect her stronghold.

"There, your focus is back," the Matron said with satisfaction, leaning back from the board when there was a knock on the door. "Enter."

The wonderful relaxed calm of the strategy game evaporated when Zekatar strode in, his helm under his arm. His red eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Val, for whom he held a certain sort of venomous dislike still. "Matron Agrach Dyrr is here and she's quite angry," he reported. "She demands to see you."

"Well, let's not keep her waiting. Escort Matron Nathlay here, Zekatar," Siniira said, rising from her seat. She opened up a cupboard, taking out a bottle of fine surface wine that had been imported at great expense. She pulled the cork and poured three glasses, taking one for herself and handing another to Val.

"Do you know why she's here?" Val asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," Siniira said with a small smile, sitting back down. "Some of the other Matrons have discovered her spies in their midst suddenly. She naturally assumes that I had something to do with it and plans to fly in here shrieking like a harpy. Nathlay is not a subtle woman when she's enraged."

"What are you going to do?"

Siniira sipped her wine comfortably, clearly in no rush. "Why, I'm going to be a good host and an obliging ear. The art of diplomacy, Valyne, is smiling in someone's face while stabbing them in the back," she explained gently. "Of course I had something to do it. But she doesn't need to know that. Her house is more obviously powerful than ours since she sits on the council's sixth seat."

The door burst open to reveal an incredibly angry woman, her jaw clenched and eyes blazing as Zekatar trailed helplessly in her wake. Nathlay slammed the door behind herself, shutting out the grizzled male. "Who do you think you are, Siniira Duskryn?"

Siniira raised her eyebrow, her expression showing just a hint of skepticism. "The same person you think, I imagine. But allow me to offer my apologies for whatever I've apparently done," she said pleasantly.

Nathlay stopped abruptly, blinking rapidly for a moment as she confronted the cool demeanor of Siniira at the top of her game. "You...what?"

"I said I apologize," Siniira said. She gestured to the glass of wine. "But you absolutely have my whole attention. Would you like a glass? Oh, and this is my youngest daughter, Valyne."

"Greetings, Matron Nathlay. My mother speaks highly of you," Val said smoothly, reminded a little bit of Malcanthet in the way the other Matron immediately started to preen at the compliment, even though it baffled her.

"Really? How surprising," Nathlay said, seeming calm. She walked over and picked up the third glass of wine before sitting down with them at Siniira's silent offer of a chair. "Perhaps I misjudged you, Siniira."

"I wouldn't give it another thought. What can I do for you, Matron Nathlay?" Siniira said, turning on her full charm with a dazzling smile.

"I...I have just suffered something of a setback," Nathlay said with a mere hint of her former anger, discretely checking for poison before sipping her wine. The sweet taste of the surface alcohol was a favorite of Agrach Dyrr's and only served to improve her mood more-Val was impressed by her mother's attention to tiny and seemingly inconsequential details. "Someone exposed a number of people I had an agreement with. It's incredibly infuriating."

"How unpleasant. Several individuals in my employ have been rooted out by House Mizzrym. They seem to be on another power trip," Siniira said, an incredibly subtle hint of sympathy to her tone along with nearly genuine disappointment.

Nathlay made exactly the leap Siniira had hoped. "Mizzrym! Miserable little worms probably had a hand in it," the woman hissed.

"What do you think of the wine? I heard you mention it once in conversation, and since you spoke so well of it I thought I would try it. I'm impressed," Siniira said smoothly, redirecting the conversation again.

Val was amazed. Her mother was clearly a master of the subtle arts, completely in control of the situation without her opponent ever being aware of what was going on. Charm directed people gently in a way that anger and threats never would. Nathlay was both focused on another enemy and disarmed.

"It's marvelous. The correct variety and everything. I hope I won't have to worry about competition purchasing it," Nathlay said, nearly glowing at the implied praise of her judgment of wines-something that she prided herself on.

Siniira's research was clearly exhaustive. Val could see as she watched quietly that every little thing served her mother's interest in one way or another. The wine was a way to satisfy Nathlay and evaporate her anger, as was every choice of words. The idea of Mizzrym being responsible had also been planted like a seed in the back of the Matron of Agrach Dyrr's mind.

By the time Nathlay left almost an hour later, she was calm and resolved to do something about Mizzrym's threat.

"That was incredible," Val said, steel eyes wide as she looked at her mother.

"Never make an enemy more powerful than you unless you have to. A few warm words, meant or not, and a few thoughtful touches will buy you more than all the gold in the world," Siniira said. "Too many drow drown in their own arrogance and make enemies before they're strong enough to crush them. And the other half, how I made her do what I wanted her to do? I made her want to do it, and she does the rest. It's redirection to serve a purpose, like water diverted to grow fields."

Val contemplated that for a long moment. She could appreciate her mother's lessons more now that she was older, the value of calculated civility clearly apparent. Why, then, did her sisters so rarely invoke such a talent? Then again, it meant abandoning pride. Normally a Matron Mother would never apologize as her mother had. But as a mage and the youngest child, what did she have to lose? Besides, if nothing else, it would probably annoy Lirayne if she didn't lose her temper.

"Think about it. You'll understand, Valyne," Siniira said with confidence. "You are free to leave. I'm certain you're looking forward to your practice."

* * *

Elsewhere, Kalzar pulled on his shirt over fresh cuts and bruises. He still felt filthy after a bath, slightly numb to the world. He hadn't wanted anything to do with a female, but you didn't say no to a priestess and definitely not to a noble. The scratches down from fingernails still burned like they'd just been given.

Lirayne was never a gentle lover with any of the particular males her eyes turned to, but he was her usual victim and always injured worse because he liked to protest and struggle. Lately he had all but given up, gratified that at least sullen obedience robbed the cleric of some of her enjoyment. Zesstra shared the sadistic streak. It was from their father, he was almost positive. Zekatar enjoyed beating down anyone that might resist.

A lot of nights after he limped back to his quarters, he wondered if Valyne was just as bad. He had heard nothing about her-by all indications, she hadn't even touched a lover since she came home from the Academy. Duty and long hours practicing magic occupied her time. He told himself that he only cared because he wanted to know what to expect if he became her victim instead.

But on patrol she was cordial, nothing more. There was always a sort of distance separating her from everyone else. He'd broken through it a few times after battle, when they were both beaten until they were bruised all over and collapsed next to each other laughing.

Part of it was his fault and he knew it, but he couldn't forgive her completely for what she was. Why would she open up when nearly everything that he directed at her was spiteful and angry? And furthermore, why did he even want her to?

"They're all the same," he growled to himself, padding down to the training room.

The sound of a ferocious combat met his ears as he neared the door-not steel on steel, but magic. He looked cautiously around the corner and found himself watching Valyne against one of the enchanted training dummies. It fought like a real opponent with a sword and shield, but it was nothing against the sheer rage-fueled destruction of the female drow in front of him. There was a crack when she grabbed it and tore the head from its shoulders in a feat of strength he would have put beyond the mage.

"Mistress Valyne?" he said cautiously, stepping in.

The fury vanished suddenly, like lightning, and her shoulders sagged for a moment as she looked down at the dummy's head still in her hands. "Oh, it's you," she said when she straightened up, turning around.

Kalzar was struck by how forlorn and hollow those familiar steel eyes were at that moment, speaking of a loss that defied description and future hope. "Would you like to spar?" he offered, knowing that always would cheer him up.

"No," she said almost too quickly, dropping the torn head. "No. I'm finished now. But I'll leave the gym to you." Val brushed past him without another word, rubbing her arms as she hugged herself like she was cold.

The male drow was baffled and turned to examine the dummy. Its torso was nearly shredded to ribbons by some manner of claws. He shuddered to think of what manner of spell might have done such a thing. Perhaps it was why she didn't want to spar. He wasn't certain what to make of anything.


	16. Sibling Rivalry

Siniira smiled faintly as her eyes swept over the unfamiliar topography of the map in front of her. It was a master stroke of planning by her youngest, careful research revealing an Underdark entrance hidden less than a mile from the faerie temple on the surface. They had everything-an estimate of forces, a map of the surrounding area, a celebration's schedule. Val had left nothing to chance in her investigation.

"A surface raid?" Lirayne said skeptically, pointedly ignoring her younger sister's presence in the room.

The Matron brushed her fingers over the temple marked on the map. "Not just any surface raid, Lirayne. This is a chance to strike a blow deep into the heart of Lloth's most ancient enemies. A temple of Corellon Larethian. You've done very well, Valyne. This is a perfect opportunity to earn favor."

"Many of those there are soldiers. It will not be the easy battle many of our kind have come to expect," Val said, clasping her hands behind her back.

Lirayne scoffed. "Like you would know. I've lead dozens of surface raids and the faeries proved no challenge."

"An easy victory, a poor sacrifice," Val said with a shrug. "These are trained fighters. I've seen them move in the darkness. But they are certain of the strength of their god and his temple-too certain. Come festival time, the guards will all be celebrating."

"And there is a relic in the temple?" Siniira said. She turned to her youngest child. "If it is truly there, you will bring it to the Spider Queen's temple in Arach-Tinilith as a sacrifice. It will please the Goddess greatly."

"That should be my duty as a priestess, not hers!" Lirayne snapped.

The Matron's displeasure was evident in the small frown that appeared on her lips. "Lirayne, your sister brought this to my attention on her own initative. She has spent weeks assembling this information into a cohesive plan. You may go with her to seek your glory in the Goddess's eyes, but you are not in command. Valyne is."

Shock burst across Lirayne's features, her lips parting and her eyes going wide. "Matron!"

"That was not a suggestion," Siniira said acidly, her eyes narrowing. "Valyne, are you up to the task?"

Val laid her hand over her heart, bowing slightly. "Always, Matron," she said quietly, privately enjoying the look on her older sister's face. The priestess would be seething for the entire trip, of course, but it was still something of a precious moment. Things would come to a head later.

The preparations were surprisingly brief due to Duskryn's finely trained and organized troops. They were all soldiers Val had worked with before and under the command of Kalzar. He made a fine captain in her opinion, even though his attitude was still downright vicious. She found herself side by side with him, strapping supplies onto the back of a powerfully built riding lizard that would serve as a pack animal.

"Lirayne is coming?" Kalzar said tersely, shoulder brushing against hers. He preferred when it was just the two of them out with the troops. And that wasn't even factoring in how often she was his tormentor.

"I thought she would back out when the Matron put me in charge. But unfortunately not," Val said casually.

Kalzar stopped as if struck by lightning, staring at her. That meant Lirayne would be in a particularly foul mood and he didn't dare to hope that it would really be Valyne giving the orders. "You're in charge?" he said, almost not believing his ears. "Wonderful. She'll be so pleasant."

Val frowned slightly at his expression. She could almost smell the fear radiating off the powerfully built male. "Listen to me, Kalzar. No matter what happens, I'll make sure you're alright. Lirayne may be a bitch, but that's all she'll be able to do."

He cinched down the other strap. "I'll believe it when I see it."

In only a few hours, they headed out towards the surface. It was almost two weeks of petty cruelty from Lirayne as she sulked before things finally erupted into confrontation. And it was Kalzar who found himself in the middle of it by bringing back an unfavorable report.

Lirayne slapped him across the face with an explosive crack. "What do you mean the path collapsed?" she snarled. "How you ever made Captain I'll never understand!"

"Leave him alone," Val said quietly, rising to her feet. The tone was soft and almost gentle, her face a mask. The soldiers scrambled back as the instinctive, primordial part of their brain screamed in panic at the predatory creature before them.

Lirayne spun around. "I don't take orders from you, no matter what the Matron says. She's not here, now is she?" the priestess sneered. "You've been riding on her coattails ever since Sorcere, but the real world belongs to me, you jumped up little mageling."

The corners of Val's mouth turned up into a lazy smile. She could feel power surging through her veins as the demonic urges came back full force. It was hard not to wonder what it would be like to rip Lirayne's still beating heart from her chest or to see dark blood pour out of carotid arteries. She stepped forward into her sister's personal space. "Lirayne, you seem to be operating under a false premise. You think I'm still the little girl you beat on for fun. But skinny, weak little Val is all grown up now."

Her hand shot up, closing around her sister's throat. Almost effortlessly, she lifted Lirayne and slammed her against the stone wall as her fingers tightened just enough to close off the priestess's airway. Lirayne kicked and clawed, but her nails were turned away by armor and the blows of her feet seemed to do nothing.

"Do you hear that sound?" Valyne whispered, leaning in. Her gray eyes seemed somehow wrong, the shape of her pupils changing to something like a cat's. Profane, dark magic burned the cleric's senses like she was looking straight into the Demonweb Pits themselves. "That little sobbing, choking noise? That's your life slipping away. Your trachea ever so slowly starting to crack and give."

The colors and smells suddenly seemed so much sharper to Val. She could feel every little tremor of muscle underneath fingernails that were turning into claws. It was intoxicating. For a moment, she held the power of life and death over one of the few people she truly hated. Just a little more pressure and she could be free of so many future problems. It was so very, very tempting.

Lirayne's struggles were starting to get weaker and weaker, her lips moving like a fish's out of water. "At any time, I can take this whole world away from you," Val whispered in her sister's ear. "Remember that."

She dropped her sister abruptly, leaving the priestess sobbing for air on the ground and clutching her bruised throat. Val's eyes combed over the others before settling on a deathly quiet Kalzar. "Captain, you said the path ahead is collapsed?" she said, coming back to her senses more. Now she was almost terrified by herself. She had started to bind without any conscious thought. It had become such habit... She massaged one hand, the hints of claws fading quickly.

"Yes, Mistress," he managed, straightening up. The monster that had grabbed Lirayne by the throat was almost unrecognizable. Now he could see Val return to her normal self as if the previous moments had never occurred. It reminded him of the one time he had seen her in the training gym. "But there should be a side passage we can use instead. It was marked on the map."

"Then we will continue through there, if there are no objections." Val glanced back at Lirayne. The priestess was just now picking herself up. "Quaras, help her along. We don't have an infinite amount of time."

She started walking, knowing that the others would follow. Kalzar kept pace next to her as the others grabbed their gear and started to move.

"Val?" he said quietly.

She didn't look at him. He was fairly certain that she was avoiding his gaze on purpose, almost reading a hint of something like shame in her expression. "Yes?"

"I guess...well...thank you," he said gruffly, squaring his shoulders. Whatever that display was, he could still be grateful. Even if he didn't like owing her anything. "I didn't expect you to come to my aid. Although you probably just wanted an excuse to crush her."

"It's already forgotten," Val said, trying to refocus herself on the mission. Her fingernails cut into her palms as she clenched her fists. The pain was barely enough to make her feel like she was anchored to her body. Even Kalzar, normally an incredibly vivid fixture in her life, looked washed out.

She thought of him too often and caught herself giving him sideways glances all too frequently as well. In a perverse way, she looked forward to their arguments because it at least meant she had his full and undivided attention for a few minutes. But more than that she found herself thinking fondly on the moments between battles when their shoulders might touch or he might smile at her. When she'd seen Lirayne hit him, something inside had snapped and the monster came out.

It was dangerously close to insanity. It had even insidiously crept into her dreams, invariably twisted and poisoned by the demonic forever burned into her soul. Sometimes she was a succubus, robbing him of his mind with just a kiss. Other times she was tearing him apart with claws and a fanged maw. They were all nightmares that tormented her in her sleep. They seemed so vivid-what if they became a reality?

So she stayed as far away as she could. She never purposely touched him no matter how tempting it became. When the urges were strong, she even went so far as to avoid him altogether. It always caused an argument with him eventually.

She would only be able to drown the hollowness she felt inside by binding, allowing herself to bathe her soul in carnage and fire.

The only thing she knew for certain was that Kalzar deserved a female who could treat him with respect and even maybe gentleness. And that was not her, not with the dark emptiness behind her breastbone growing as it consumed everything. The raid would make her feel better. She had to believe that.


	17. Of Two Minds

The night air was alive with the sounds of festivities, nearly a hundred elves gathered at the temple of Corellon Larethian. Most were devotees and many also warriors of the faith. The late summer moon was large in the star-studded sky and shone down on the courtyard fires where music came from harps, flutes, and drums.

"The watchtower didn't check in," Idhrenion said, his lean face lined with concern. He was the oldest among those present, his clerical vestments loose on his aged frame. His hair was still as black as night with only streaks of silver touching it at his temples.

At his side, young Arthion laughed. "You worry too much, Father. They've probably just had too much wine. What do we have to fear?"

A long, drawn out scream shattered the night air.

The drow seemed to come from everywhere, even the elves' own shadows. The celebrating elves were no match, their certainty in the safety of the temple now their downfall. Idhrenion grabbed the young elven champion by the shoulder. "Fetch Valasse. The blade is the best weapon we have against this foe," he ordered.

Arthion took off like a shot for the temple, trying not to pay any heed to the bloodbath erupting all around him. It was a miracle none of the drow struck him down, though he knew at least one was moving quickly on his heels.

Inside the temple just behind the altar was a locked case where the blade lay, a slender silver and ivory greatsword imbued with Corellon Larethian's divine magic-a paladin's weapon if there ever was one. Arthion smashed the case's glass with his elbow and fished the weapon out with steady hands. He knew to hate the drow as much as he feared them. With the blade at his side, he could make them rue this night. Good always triumphed over evil.

Outside, the peaceful night had become a blood bath. Elven warriors snatching up arms were swiftly struck down, guards running in dispatched with an almost mechanical perfection by the drow rearguards. Val moved through the enemy like a wraith, powerful spells beating down or outright slaying the most dangerous of foes. There was no challenge in attacking the helpless, and if anything she relished testing herself.

Kalzar almost crashed into her, stopping a hair's breadth from the mage. "You alright?" he asked gruffly, noting that the drowess had at least a dozen wounds. They looked small and superficial, but it was hard to be certain of anything in the chaos.

"Fine, though-" Val flinched as she saw something coming at her out of the corner of her eye. It was that reflex that saved her, the gleaming blade slicing along her ribs instead of piercing her lung and heart.

It was Arthion who struck, his eyes aflame with a righteous fury. His next blow narrowly missed her shoulder. Had it struck, the spell-caster would have been missing an arm. He pressed his attack until she barely had time to breathe, let alone retaliate. It was a situation that could end very badly for Val.

Kalzar knew now was the time to pay back his debt. He snarled and barreled at Arthion, using his shoulder to bull Arthion off his feet. The drow's sword hissed in a vicious arc, laying open a muscled thigh with one strike. The two were bulwarks of their forces, easily the most powerful warriors on the field.

"Kalzar, the weapon is magic!" Val shouted at him, sensing the power that flowed in waves from the gleaming blade.

Arthion struck, the blade slicing cleanly through the drow's adamantine scalemail like a knife through butter. Kalzar let out a grunt. He barely felt the blade make hard contact with his hip now that the adrenaline was really flowing. Instead of flinching back, he hurled himself forward with a leap, snapping his hands into a crooked strike that brought his blade down on the elf's hands.

The elf screamed as bones snapped and flesh tore, almost dropping his blade. Arthion stepped into Kalzar's space, slamming his elbow into the drow's jaw. The slightly smaller, lean dark elf stumbled back but kept his blade up to protect himself.

The surface elf raised his blade and hit as hard as he could, shattering the drow warrior's blade. The vibration of the clash ran up Kalzar's hands, making him drop the broken hilt. Arthion raised his blade to strike down the drow warrior.

A hand ending in razor-sharp claws thrust through his chest from behind. Dark magic crackled in a blue-black aura around it. Val clenched her fist and ripped it back out. She was now covered in blood, but little of it was her own. Her eyes when she looked at Kalzar were a blank white from corner to corner. Arthion fell to his knees, gazing up at them. His lips parted. "I will have my vengeance," he breathed.

Val just smiled. "I'll be waiting." Her voice was a low, inhuman purr. She turned to the panting male and raised an eyebrow. "See you on the other side, handsome."

When she picked up the elven greatsword, the divine magic burned into the flesh of her hand. She clenched it tighter and reveled in the flare of pain. It made her feel even more alive. Then just as swiftly she wrapped it in cloth to protect herself from it. "We have the relic. Let's go."

The Val that Kalzar knew returned later when they had made their escape, the wounded drowess appearing to finally fade. Her shoulders fell into a slump and her body returned to normal instead of being twisted and yet energized by whatever force had possessed her. Kalzar wrapped his arm around her from the side, silently helping her to stay upright until they stopped to make camp in the tunnels.

"I don't understand you," he said when she nudged him away and sat down under her own power on a flat outcropping of rock. "A frigid bitch who flirts in the middle of battle?

Had this been any other female, he would have never dared to utter even a single word like that. But it shocked him that she'd even so much as smiled at him. This felt more dangerous than the normal games a priestess would play, probably because he at least understood that evil.

Val looked at him with hooded eyes, exhaustion etched into her features. She felt old centuries beyond her years, aged and worn prematurely from the flooding of power that was binding. "Stay away, Kalzar," she said quietly. The ache of her wounds was her only anchor to the world any more. It took so much to feel anything now.

"You're just like them. Always telling me what to do, what to think, how to feel! Am I entitled to nothing?" he snarled, growing more angry. It was unreasonable and he knew it. But then again, so was the entire situation. No one had ever taught him how to be anything other than enraged or suspicious and it was showing.

Val sighed, laying her head against the cool and rough stone. It scratched at her cheek and her throbbing temple. "I saw him raise that blade to hit you and I...I couldn't stop myself."

"Now you think I can't defend myself? Best leap in and save the poor little male?" Kalzar spat. Every time she confused him, he defaulted to anger and vented all the rage the priestesses in his life had conjured up. It was insulting to think that she of all people thought he was weak. And more than that, it terrified him that she might think less of him now. What if that meant she would choose a different captain to take on expeditions like this?

She flinched slightly under his onslaught for the first time since he'd met her. The drowess stood up, leaning heavily against the cavern wall as her exhausted bones groaned slightly under her weight. "I just wanted to protect you."

"I don't need you or your protection!" he snapped, storming off back to the others. It was not his finest moment and even he was quick to realize that.

Val ran her fingers through her hair with frustration. Going after him would solve nothing. Better to just lie down and sleep it off, albeit fitfully. Kalzar could simmer away to his heart's content. Sometimes she wondered if it was the only emotion he could feel. More likely, it was the only one he allowed himself to. The drowess cleaned and bound her own wounds with a practiced hand, then laid down in her bedroll. She closed her eyes and just breathed, the bundled sword lying next to her.

Across the camp, Kalzar sat sullenly in the group of others. He glared openly at Lirayne, who sneered at him but didn't dare make a move even with her sister supposedly asleep. One jogged his shoulder. "Hey, mate, why so grim? Get the brush off from Lady Valyne?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

One of the older soldiers chuckled. "I'd have thought you were her consort with the way she tore her sister a new one."

Kalzar growled slightly. "Are you deaf, you old bastard?"

She said she wanted to protect him. To a veteran of drow affairs like himself, that was a cruel joke if there ever was one. But he couldn't stop thinking about the possibility that maybe she meant it for whatever reason. After all, she had stepped in to handle Lirayne. And the elf, as humiliating as that was to admit. Maybe she had liked him. Not anymore, of course, after such a sharp rebuff. He half expected her to get up at any moment and order him beaten by his own men.

Instead, she spent the night tossing and turning before getting up to take over the watch from him a few hours early. Kalzar was surprised to see her looking at him without malice. "You can sleep now," Val said, sitting down next to him. "I have this."

"About earlier-"

She stalled him with a hand, though the gesture was softened barely by an artificial smile. It wasn't the rare genuine one he received sometimes just before battle or during a lull in the fighting. "Forgotten, Kalzar. Get some extra rest. Long day tomorrow."

He felt something he had hardly ever felt before-remorse. Not only were the actions truly painful, but he wished for a moment that he could undo it. "Valyne, I'm sorry," he said, crossing his arms in an almost defensive expression of discomfort.

"Forgotten," she repeated quietly.

He retreated to his bedroll and slept.


	18. The Vision in the Dark

Val met her mother in the temple, relic still wrapped in dark cloth. Her wounds ached in a comforting way, but that did little to help her unsettled heart. The Matron seemed to sense something was wrong almost immediately, her brow creasing slightly. "Valyne, you look unwell. Is there something I can do?"

"It's nothing, but the offer is appreciated," Val said quietly. She brushed the cloth away with her fingers to reveal the gleaming elven blade. "This was the relic."

Siniira felt her breath catch in awe despite herself. The blade had divine power that she could sense without even needing to expend any effort. "A marvel of crafts," she said, reaching out to run her fingers over the smooth mahogany grip and silver inlaid hilt. She seemed to be able to touch it safely. "I want you to dedicate this blade to Lloth. It will go to a champion of our House, but the symbolism will no doubt please the Goddess greatly."

"The honor should be yours or Zesstra's, Matron. I am no priestess," Val said quietly. She had always tried to be faithful to the Spider Queen beyond what was expected of her as an arcane spell-caster, but she knew where such privileges ended well.

Siniira reached out, her hand resting on her youngest daughter's shoulder. It was one of the few times she'd touched her child since Val was an infant. Siniira regretted the distance but knew it was a necessary evil. "The honor is yours. Zesstra has been alive nearly four centuries, and yet she has done nothing approaching what you have for House Duskryn. I wish the Spider Queen to look upon you as I do, with pride."

Her mother's smile was prompting enough. Val flipped the cloth back over the blade. "Thank you, Matron," she said quietly, bowing her head in acknowledgment. "Shall we?"

Siniira nodded and walked with her daughter into the main area of the Fane, the main temple of Menzoberranzan around which life circulated. It was the great, darkly beautiful stone heart of the whole city. Ahead loomed the great statue of the half-spider goddess as she leaned over a dark, grooved altar inlaid with runes and stained with the blood of innumerable sacrifices. Even drow had met their end here.

Braziers burned low in the darkness, creating more flickering shadows than actual light. The smoke that hung in the air was sweet and biting like an exotic perfume. Val was conscious of priestesses watching with a great interest from the sides, between slender pillars rising up to vaulted arches lost in the darkness above that even to drow eyes was impenetrable.

Val stepped forward without fear. She felt a connection here to the Abyss and the Demonweb. Invisible webs of divine energy drifted through the air, brushing against her skin and sending shivers of power down her spine. It was almost like coming home, a strange warmth and comfort seeping through her tired body. She knelt down on the cold, hard stone before the altar and uncovered the blade. It balanced on the fabric that still shielded her hands.

She offered up her prayer to the Goddess not in drow, but in Abyssal. The harsh and yet intricate language rolled off her tongue with ease. The growling syllables hung in the air for a moment and then she felt a strange tingling sensation run through her whole body in a wave. Like a bolt of lightning, an incredible power struck her and locked her muscles in place. Her mind reeled as the Temple started to swim and her vision exploded with black spots.

Barely audible voices whispered in her ears from all sides. One dominated the others, as smooth as silk and dark as midnight. She felt it more than heard it, every word burning underneath her skin like liquid fire. It was female-that was all she could say for certain.

**The darkness inside flourishes to something beautiful. No one understands, do they? How could they?**

Val felt herself falling, the Temple around her evaporating like a fevered dream. She was plunging into endless darkness, tumbling helplessly with nothing to hold onto.

**Born to privilege but denied it. Abandoned, alone, stripped of everything. Cursed with free will. **

Her feet hit ground suddenly. She was standing on the precipice, looking down into a great rift lit by countless fires. An army's camp, clearly, twinkling like the stars in the surface's sky. The image shimmered in a haze, almost indistinct.

**Wheels within wheels are in motion, a betrayal just beyond vision. Do not fear the darkness ahead. In it lies salvation.**

Val heard herself gasp for breath and suddenly the hallucination vanished. She was still kneeling in the temple, holding the sword. Dark, powerful divine magic wound around her body in a loving caress before flowing into the weapon. She watched as the gleam slowly faded from the enchanted weapon and the hilt blackened. Divine sigils of Abyssal power glowed on the blade, twisting the elven inscription into a different incantation. She could feel the power shift away from light. The weapon was transfigured into a weapon of the Spider Queen's will before everyone's eyes.

**I am always watching. **

* * *

Lirayne stepped into her older sister's room without waiting for permission, closing the door behind herself. The elder priestess was reading and looked up with one raised eyebrow as if silently questioning why she had been disturbed. "I see your journey has left you the worse for wear," Zesstra said finally as she closed her book. She could see the faint swelling and discoloration of bruising around her sister's throat. The surface elves clearly had more fight than either of them had expected.

"We have to do something about Valyne," Lirayne said sharply, crossing her arms

Zesstra laughed. "The Matron's little pet?"

"This isn't a game anymore," Lirayne said with a scowl, her words coming out in a hiss.

"Oh, you're serious." The older priestess's smile was indulgent. "Pray, what brings about this change? I thought we'd agreed she was too soft to ever make a play for Matron."

"I was wrong," House Duskryn's second daughter said. Her shoulders were stiff as though the revelation was a reluctant one. "I thought she would back down on the surface raid. She nearly killed me the moment I tried to make her. She would have, if it hadn't amused her to watch me gasp for breath. She's not a stupid child. She's dangerous."

"Really? Well, that does explain the new necklace," Zesstra said. She was still skeptical. But it really didn't matter whether or not Lirayne was right. Either way, the girl was a problem that needed to be removed. "Fortunately for you, I happen to have a plan."

"Oh?" Lirayne said, aiming to prompt some kind of revelation. There were few things in life her older sister liked more than indulging her pride and sharing her intellectual victories.

"It's not as special if you know how the conjuror performs his tricks, sister," Zesstra said with a secretive smile. Just this once, she would keep her cards very close to her chest indeed. Lirayne might say the wrong thing to the wrong person. "Just wait, watch, and enjoy."


	19. Favorites

"It's infuriating," Lirayne growled, stalking down the hallway with Zekatar at her heels. "How dare she treat that little bitch like my better? I should have been the one to present that relic. I was there when it was claimed!"

"Do not confront Siniira, Lirayne," Zekatar said, hoping to stem the tide of rage. His daughter's temperamental nature had virtually exploded when she found out what had happened in the Fane. "She is still head of this House with all the power that implies."

His daughter rounded on him with fury burning in her crimson eyes. "And for how long?" she snarled. "Always you tell me to be patient. You sneak around in the dark like some sniveling little coward, promising me a crown that you will never deliver. You don't have the spine to confront her and so you drag me back because you know Zesstra would dispose of you in an instant were she Matron Mother!"

"You do not attack your enemy on the field if your own forces are half marshaled," Zekatar said fiercely. "You intend to take on one of the most powerful women in Menzoberranzan with what? Your poison tongue? Your entitled whining? I know Siniira Duskryn better than you, little girl. She would crush you in an instant, and the only regret she would feel is that your blood stained her good carpets. She did not just become Matron because she knows how to be charming."

Lirayne's face was ugly with rage, one hand jerking up to deliver a slap to her father's face. But she held herself in check just barely. Perhaps it was some instinct that told her it would cost her the most fervent supporter of her cause. Or perhaps it was that she realized the truth of his words. "This is not an insult that I will suffer in silence," she ground out, lowering her hand.

"If Siniira allowed the girl such a privilege, it means what I feared has come to pass-she has selected the girl to be her heir. Valyne has won her approval in a way Zesstra and even you, Lirayne, could not. As long as the two of them remain so close, they are both nigh invulnerable," Zekatar said more calmly, sensing that he had broken through the anger.

Lirayne's lips parted slightly in a brief shock, eyes flickering back and forth. "That's what she means to do. Drive a wedge between them."

"Who?"

The priestess rolled her eyes impatiently. "Who else? Zesstra. The clever bitch has probably been planning this for months. She mentioned that she had some kind of plan. If what you say is true, then the only way to handle the Matron or Valyne is to break them apart."

Zekatar frowned. "A double-edged sword primed to cut its wielder."

"Nothing risked, nothing gained. You taught us that," Lirayne said. She took a deep breath. "Fine, I'll wait patiently. After Zesstra's scheme has run its course, successful or not, there will only be two competing for the throne instead of three. And I like those odds."

Behind closed doors not far away, Kalzar wrung his hands ever so slightly behind his back as he watched the female drow in front of him with hesitation. He knew very little about Zesstra save for the fact that she could be incredibly vicious if crossed. "I'm at your service, Mistress," he said, bowing his head and studying the floor.

The priestess laughed, a rich and silvery sound in the darkness. "I highly doubt that, Captain. Your loyalty to Valyne is quite remarkable-in fact, that's why you're here. But before we get to that, what is it that so inspires you to follow her lead even as you argue constantly?"

He clenched his hands together, uncertain. The meeting left him feeling terribly off balance. "In the field, she's at the front. Eating the same rations, sleeping on the same hard ground, fighting in the same amount of danger. Soldiers respect that," he said as steadily as he could, grateful that the priestess was seated and not prowling around him to see the apparent evidence of his nerves.

"Respect and infatuation, Captain. Little hints come through in how you talk about her," Zesstra said. She noted his flinch when she said it out loud with a sort of satisfaction. "I take it she doesn't know? How unfortunate. Perhaps if she made you her consort it would offer you protection from Lirayne."

"I can handle myself," he said quietly, beginning to suspect that the gleam in Zesstra's eyes had more to do with potential vengeance than any passing interest.

"Indeed," Zesstra said smoothly. She rose. "And I also know that you have as much reason to hate Lirayne as I do. This little arrangement should be beneficial for both of us. I happen to know that our mutual enemy intends to kill or otherwise incapacitate Valyne-she sees the House's youngest as a legitimate threat now. I want her to fail miserably and I am more than happy to work for the benefit of my youngest sister to crush Lirayne. So our interests align."

"What do you suggest?" Kalzar said. He didn't relax, but he did feel more comfortable knowing at least a fraction of what Zesstra's agenda was. He was certain she was omitting a great many details, but she didn't seem to be lying outright. At least, as far as he could tell.

"I've done my part by giving you this warning. What you do with the information is entirely up to you. All I ask in exchange is that you keep my name out of it. As valuable as a defeat for Lirayne is, I'm not prepared to look weak because of supposed sentiment. Is this acceptable?" Zesstra said smoothly.

Kalzar deliberated in silence for a moment, weighing the plausibility of Zesstra's alleged motives. It did sound like something a drow would do. Undoubtedly, Valyne's continued good health was a case of unintended consequences. And he did want to keep the drow noble safe almost despite himself. After all, he did owe her at least one. "Agreed."

The drowess smiled pleasantly. "I thought you might. Dismissed, Captain."

He almost bolted from her presence, relieved. But then there was what to do with this information. He could easily imagine Valyne just shrugging off the threat if he went straight out and told her that Lirayne was plotting malice. The only real solution was to ingratiate himself and learn the routines that marked Val's days, searching for weaknesses and shoring them up. Unfortunately, that would mean setting himself up for the mage's inevitable rejection. She hadn't even spoken to him since they returned.

* * *

"You've been very quiet since the Fane," Siniira noted, stepping out onto the terrace. Her youngest was leaning on the stone railing and looking out over the city's labyrinthine streets and crooked avenues below.

"Something spoke to me," Val said, twisting the ring on her finger. She never took the heirloom off. The silver band had become almost like a worry stone, a comforting flare of magic under her fingers whenever she touched it in distress. "It knew who I was. And I think it spoke about things that haven't happened yet."

"It is said that the Goddess sometimes speaks to favored drow. If this is the case, count yourself fortunate," Siniira said softly.

Val frowned slightly. "It is hard to feel fortunate when the truth is harsh," she said. The tension was obvious in her shoulders and arms. "What if I I'm not strong enough for what's ahead?"

The Matron smiled a little, leaning on the railing beside her and looking out over the city. "No one is ever certain about the future, Valyne. We all carry on, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. Faith is a virtue that is necessary in life, just like patience. But that isn't all that's bothering you, is it?"

"No," Val said. She lifted and dropped her shoulders in a shrug and turned tired eyes on her mother. "But it's not something I can talk about."

"Whatever this is that's hanging over you, it must be grave with the change it has made in you," Siniira said. "I want to understand, Valyne. It concerns me that you are unwell."

"I know. I just...I can't," Val said quietly. How could she explain the corruption that ran so deep in her veins or the violent temper that was her own dark side commandeering her life? The fact that she cared about Kalzar but was frightened that she might hurt him at the same time? "Sometimes I feel like the person that you see in me doesn't exist anymore. Every day is a charade, where I pretend to be something good and wholesome and worth pride."

Siniira was alarmed, though she did her best not to show it. "Valyne-"

Her daughter sighed. "Forgive me, Matron, I am tired. May I go?"

The Matron looked for a moment like she wanted to say something, but then she nodded. "Yes, you may go. Rest well."

Siniira fell quiet after her daughter left and looked hard down at the streets. Something about the situation left a bitter taste in her mouth. It was as if Valyne was fighting some kind of battle within herself. Her mother had hoped that she would open up or at least admit to what it was. But there was no such revelation. And why?

Then again, she supposed that she couldn't expect any admission of weakness from a girl who needed so badly to be thought of as strong. She wanted to slap Zekatar for that some times. The Matron already regretted more often than not that the male was still breathing. As far as female drow went, Siniira Duskryn could be very forgiving. But she could hardly stand to look at the Patron knowing that he had been complicit in the attack that should have killed her youngest before birth.

Siniira couldn't explain why Valyne had always been special to her, but part of it was that the mage was the only child that really felt like her own. Zesstra and especially Lirayne had both clung to their father, who was more than happy to encourage them. Their lives of privilege did not mirror her own inauspicious beginnings the way Valyne's struggle had. She did feel an affection for the two, but it was tempered with the knowledge that they meant to usurp her and the order she had created over a lifetime.

She wanted her third daughter to be her heir. The question in her mind had evaporated since Valyne's return from Sorcere and the presentation of the relic in the Temple was only a final confirmation. Even the House's attitudes had changed. No longer did the bulk of the people look to Zesstra or Lirayne for leadership. Valyne's actions were enough to make any mother proud, if they were capable of feeling it.

And now something was wrong. Siniira wished she knew what.


	20. Inside the Walls

Val sat at her desk, turning over a crossbow bolt in her hands. It was of her own house's design, a secret project designed to create weapons more effective at disrupting the enchantments of the armor they struck. And yet, she'd taken it not from a soldier of her own house but from one of House Mizzrym's, fallen in a back alley scuffle. As far as she was aware, only she and Mourndar had access to the prototypes. This was espionage or treason of some sort, though she struggled to imagine her brother capable of something so stupid. Was it someone else? A spy in their ranks?

"Mistress, may I speak to you?" Kalzar asked quietly from the doorway. She wasn't surprised. In the months that had passed after the surface raid, he had become something approaching a friend. The companionship was quiet and steady like a rock that she had come to count on having.

Val looked up at him with a hint of irritation in her expression, nearly pricking herself on the wickedly sharp point of the bolt. It wasn't that she disliked seeing him-quite the opposite, in fact-but she had nearly begged him to drop that particular honorific and still it remained. She couldn't explain why it got under her skin so. Perhaps because it was one Zesstra and Lirayne wore so well. "Of course. Come in."

He hesitated for a moment, but then stepped in and closed the door. Kalzar possessed a survival trait common to many males: a sensitivity to the moods of the women around them. But Valyne was not an easy creature to read, as if his very presence made her more mercurial. "Is something wrong?" he ventured carefully.

"Must everyone ask me that?" Val muttered, setting down the bolt. She took a deep breath as if to steady herself. "I am well enough, Kalzar. Just...tired."

"Tired of what, if I may ask?" He stood just a short ways to the side of her desk, noting the tension in her shoulders. It occurred to him that he had never really seen her relaxed.

"Tired of hiding and dancing around things because I have to be what the House needs. I envy Lirayne and Zesstra their selfishness sometimes," Val said. She leaned back in her chair and then pushed herself up out of it to face him. "Goddess knows their lot in life is simpler."

Kalzar straightened up ever so slightly. He wasn't certain that he could ever imagine the pressures of being drow nobility, particularly those exerted by the Matron, but he was grateful that Val hadn't walked the same path as her sisters. Or if she had, it wasn't visible in their interactions. "We only ask great things of you because we know you have them in you, Lady," he said, using her preferred honorific.

It earned him a wan smile. "You sound like the Matron. How I earned so much faith I'll never understand. But you wanted to see me about something?"

He studiously avoided her gaze, scanning the bookshelves that lined two of four walls in her study. None of them were what he might call a light read: historical texts, philosophical treatises, theological works, demonology tomes, summoning manuals, and arcane books of all stripes. It took him a moment to work up the courage to speak. "May I speak honestly, Lady Val?" he asked finally.

She leaned against her desk and crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised into a perfect arch. The little quirk of a smile made him want desperately to close the distance. "I would have it no other way, Kalzar."

Many, many times in front of the mirror had he tried to rehearse this speech. But now all that confidence evaporated. What if she rejected him? Mocked him for having these...these feelings that confused everything else. He barely could describe them himself. He understood lust very well, as it often reared its head around Valyne. Jokes around the barracks attributed his frequent and loud arguments with her as a poor substitute for sex. But there were also times where she smiled and he knew it was just for him, deep in his melting heart. He even thought sometimes about drawing his blade on Zesstra or Lirayne to protect her, though it would be suicide.

"I..." He took a deep breath and felt his courage, unmatched on the battlefield, falter. "My only experiences with females have been cruelty. Being used as a plaything and thrown away. But you are not like them. When we argue, I feel almost as if I am your equal." His eyes focused on the stone even though he wanted nothing more than to meet her gaze.

Val's expression softened and she moved to him, delicate hands clasping one of his battle-roughened ones. "You keep me from losing my way, Kalzar. I value your judgment greatly."

He cleared his throat and looked up. "I don't pretend to understand what burden you carry, Lady Val. But from now on...you don't have to carry it alone. I am your man, through and through."

For a long moment, the mage could barely think of what to say. She knew she didn't deserve any kind of declaration like that. It was a promise closer to love than the average drow ever came. She had to choose between what she knew was right and what she wanted more than anything. Absently, she smoothed the pad of her thumb across the back of his hand. "Kalzar...I am not the safest woman in the world to be around, nor the most thoughtful, nor the most gentle. You have every reason not to believe me when I say this, but I promise I will never hurt you."

"I believe you," he said, pulling her close even though he knew he should have waited and let her make the first move. But he could see hesitation in her expression. She didn't want to do anything that might make him uncomfortable. He was both flattered and grateful.

Her hand moved like a whisper across his cheek. Val found herself almost afraid that if she touched him too roughly that he would vanish like an illusion. But she did lean into him and press her lips to his with a careful softness. She had no doubts that every time before this, Kalzar had endured something hurried and rough. This, she promised herself, would be different.

For Kalzar, it was like something out of a dream. He barely knew what to do with someone who treated him like some favored thing. But he did know it was something he definitely wanted to become accustomed to. A few kisses and his body was humming with sensation, tingles running down his spine when he felt her hands under his shirt. Val moved at a methodical and maddeningly slow pace, leaving a trail of kisses down and then up his throat, saving a few for the sensitive tips of his pointed ears. Any time she found something he particularly enjoyed, she paid it all the more attention.

"Are you on duty tonight?" she whispered in his ear, pleased both with his shuddering reaction and her own self control. The demonic in her was fearsome and yet held in check with concentration.

"No, Lady," he gasped out as she nipped very lightly at that ear.

"Just Val here, Kalzar," she said with a small smile that hid her own insecurities. He mattered to her. That was all she knew for certain and probably all she would ever know. "Stay with me tonight. Please?"

It was that last, one little word that broke through all of Kalzar's walls. Never before had he been asked what he wanted or given a chance to choose. But now he kissed Val like they might die any moment, desperately trying to feel everywhere at once. Her laughter, so strong it lit up her face into a smile and touched the corners of her eyes, reassured him that he was allowed to be the one with the initiative. Val also had a confidence and a skill he hadn't expected-he was fairly certain she hadn't been with anyone since the Academy.

The truth was that Val had tapped into the wealth of knowledge gleaned from sharing minds with a succubus on many occasions. She focused all of her energy into trying to make the next few hours as pleasurable for him as possible. Anything to erase all of the nightmares from his past.

When they finally finished, Kalzar stopped a moment to bask in the warm contentment flooding through his body and the comfort of Val's curves pressed flush against him. For the first time, he found that he didn't want to leave a female's bed. Her head was resting on his shoulder as she drew lazy circles across the flat planes of his chest. He sighed and inhaled deeply, her familiar scent drifting to him. There was always something dark and sweet hidden in it, something expensive drow perfumes strove and failed to capture.

Val smiled when his rough hand gently stroked the small of her back, turning her head to kiss his shoulder. "If it weren't so dangerous now..."

"What?" he said indulgently, content as long as she didn't send him away.

Her grey eyes sought his. "I might ask you to be my consort. You'd be allowed to say no," she said tentatively.

"Would I be allowed to say yes?" Kalzar said, his eyes hooded with sleep.

"I'd like that very much," Val admitted with an almost bashful air. Drow weren't supposed to show soft emotions and she honestly wasn't used to having them herself. So much of her life was either dull emptiness or raging, out of control desires. There weren't words in any language she knew to describe these quiet moments.

"We will have to be very careful," the male drow said quietly. He shifted and made himself more comfortable. "Your sisters will hammer at any chink in your armor. We won't be able to meet like this often, lest they suspect something."

Val sketched another arcane pattern on his bare chest that warmed the skin under her fingers. "So much hiding in the shadows. It drives me nearly mad sometimes. All I want to do now is shout from the rooftops how wonderful you are, but if I breathe a word, you might be taken from me," she murmured pensively. "A secret it is."


	21. All Who Love

Val plunged into tepid, dark saltwater from some indeterminable height and struggled towards the surface and the shallows that lead up to a black mud flat ridged with salt. Slime squelched under her feet, sucking at her bare feet as she slogged forward. She was in some kind of cavern, easily as large as the one that harbored the city of Menzoberranzan, its limits invisible in the distant darkness.

The air was foul, sickly sweet with the heavy odors of pervasive rot and putrescent flesh. Corruption oozed from every inch of water and sand, small waves carrying a white-yellow foam that reminded her of reeking puss from an infected wound. Something slimy brushed against her calf and then vanished into the depths, as if to remind her that she was not alone in this place.

Somewhere, far below the surface, a great beating heart of demonic power slumbered. Lit by an eldritch, green-gray, graveyard glow, the great towers of a submerged citadel were barely visible when she looked out into the depths of this subterranean sea. But the angles were twisting and wrong, the architecture crumbling and ancient from a civilization mercifully extinguished. It was a thoroughly unwholesome construction that whispered of a hidden malevolence deep in the water.

Val tried not to breathe in the fetid air and flexed her fingers nervously. She was afraid in this place even though there was no obvious threat. When she looked towards her feet, she couldn't see them even in the shallows. There was only her reflection, smiling wickedly and reaching up towards her with clawed hands.

The drowess jerked back and might have fallen except for the fact that her reflection caught her, its slime-drenched claws hooking into the thin fabric of her shirt. "_You could be so much more than what you are_," it whispered, voice rasping like she imagined a snake's would. Indeed, there was something serpentine about her reflection's cold hands and slit pupils. "_But you are a slave. A slave to the Mother, to the House, to the ideals that will only crumble as the centuries erode away everything you have ever loved_."

"Get away from me!" Val shouted, shoving it away and staggering back. The foul waters sloshed around her ankles now.

"_Only I am eternal_," the reflection snarled, now upright and three dimensional. It was as if some sculptor had taken a replica of her and tried to make it as unwholesome and evil as possible. It seemed to shimmer slightly with an oily sheen, twisting and bending as if made of the inky fluid that she was standing in.

"I am not you," Val said, already starting to weave a spell. But her magic fizzled and failed.

"_But you need to be. You want to be_."

"No!"

Far behind in the distance, Val could hear someone calling her name. She turned and tried to run, but the reflection caught her ankles and started to drag her backwards into the depths. She was dragged under, the foul waters choking her and pouring into her lungs...

Val woke up with a start, conscious that someone was knocking on her door and calling her name. It sounded like Lirayne. She groaned. "One nightmare into another," she mumbled to herself, throwing on clothes. It'd been nearly two weeks since she'd last shared her bed, but in a way she was grateful. That same nightmare had been haunting her sleep and she didn't want it to worry Kalzar.

"Can I help you?" she said after jerking open the door. Val was face to face with her older sister and not too thrilled about it.

"The games are today," her sister said flatly, raising an eyebrow at the younger drowess's disheveled appearance. "Do try to put some effort into your appearance. The Matron expects us all to attend, but otherwise it should be enjoyable."

Val nodded and grabbed the clothes she'd actually laid out to wear, brushing past her sister and heading down to the baths. She was always either in the coldest or the hottest pool, a way to reconnect with her body through extreme sensation after a session of binding or a nightmare. She stripped and jumped into the almost scalding water. It was a shock of heat across her body, but a welcome one that burned away all of her cold sweat from her nightmare.

Privacy was the luxury that came with status. Where commoners were forced to endure each other's company, this area was restricted to the nobility only. More often than not, that meant Val had them all to herself.

The arena's games held little interest for Val if she was honest with herself. She spent much of her time indulging in her hobby of people-watching along with the Matron while Lirayne and Zekatar enjoyed the bloodsport itself. Zesstra usually kept company with a couple of sycophants, basking in their adulation and flattery while keeping an eye on proceedings below.

* * *

"Weapons Master?" Kalzar said, running his fingers through his short hair. He wasn't certain what to make of the offer, particularly not here in front of Zesstra. "And what of Zekatar?"

"That would be up to you," Zesstra said smoothly, leaning against the wall. She looked away from him and out one of the corridor's many arched windows at the glittering streets of Menzoberranzan below. It wasn't the first time they'd talked. She'd been cordial with him since their first real meeting when she warned him about Lirayne.

Kalzar felt a brief twinge of satisfaction. He hated the Patron almost as much as he hated Lirayne. Zekatar was a sadist and a bully. The soldier relished the idea of putting the grizzled male in the ground. But...this was no small deal Zesstra was making. She had to want something in exchange. "And what would I have to do if I were interested?"

"I have a package that needs to make it into Valyne's room today while she's out. Obviously, I won't be able to deliver it since I'll be with them. But you have access to her quarters," Zesstra explained with the studied vagueness only a priestess of Lloth could truly master.

"And the contents?"

"Are none of your concern, Captain," Zesstra said. She smiled at him pleasantly, as if they were old friends. "You need power, Kalzar. I know you want to get even with Lirayne. And who wouldn't? Think of it, being immune to the abuses of priestesses. Holding the ear of one of the most powerful women in Menzoberranzan. But all power comes with a price."

Kalzar leaned back on his heels thoughtfully as his brow furrowed in thought. "How can a simple package be worth a rank of nobility?" he asked.

"The best things come in small packages," Zesstra said, picking up a plain paper-wrapped box from the side table. She'd long been planning this conversation and indeed everything she'd done for the past few months. It was an exhausting endeavor, but it would be worth it to see a plan come together. "Do this one little thing for me, Kalzar, and you can have everything you've ever dreamed of."

He hesitated for a moment, hands twitching at his sides. "And this won't do Valyne any harm?"

She smiled again. "Of course not."

Kalzar felt a shiver of unease run down his spine. Half of his mind was screaming at him to run away. The other half was shouting just as loudly to take the best offer he'd ever been made in his life. Freedom from being victimized again was a heady proposition. After all, Siniira wouldn't touch him. She didn't even get within bowshot of her own consort if it could be avoided, not that he blamed her considering Zekatar's utter lack of charm.

Val would understand. She wanted him to go far and excel. It'd make him consort-worthy material, and more than that, as Weapons Master he could actively protect her from even Lirayne.

He reached out and took the package. "Only this one favor, Zesstra," he said firmly, tucking it under his arm. "I don't want to be involved in politics."

"Life is political, Kalzar. If I were you, I'd get used to it," she said in a good humor, a hint of laughter in her eyes. "I had best join the family. Leave that little package in the lower left hand drawer of her desk. It's expected there."

Kalzar felt his shoulders relax a little. If Val was expecting it, then it couldn't be anything too dangerous.

Zesstra watched him go, the thrill of victory humming in her veins. The irony was virtually delicious. At times like this she almost regretted the subtlety of her art because no one would appreciate all the work moving behind the scenes. Now, like a masterwork symphony, all her different instruments were coming together into a beautifully crafted crescendo. "Poor Kalzar," she whispered to the empty air. "Haven't you heard that all who love are blind?"


	22. The Final Touch

The air in the torturer's workspace was thick with smoke reeking of scorched hair and burned flesh, but Siniira was not one to flinch away from the messy and less than glamorous work required of her. She had conjured a zone of truth here, between racks of gleaming implements and the sadistic smiles of her own spies, but it didn't help if her victim put to question refused to speak. The existence of violence and brutality like this was a necessary evil.

"I grow more and more tired of your reticence every passing moment," the Matron Mother said, her tones cold. "Tear a finger off unless he says who his accomplice inside the House is."

The male drow's wretched face distorted when red hot pliers were applied to one finger. His shriek melded with the sound of sizzling flesh and Siniira felt her stomach turn slightly. She did hate doing this, but she needed to know who had been selling such valuable secrets to her enemies. "I don't know her name!" he sobbed out.

"A description will suffice, worm."

"Matron Mother?" a soft voice said hesitantly. Siniira held up a hand to forestall the sickening crack of his finger being broken. The torturer halted with an air of great reluctance.

"Yasrena, what have you learned?" Siniira asked. The spymaster had been personally tasked with canvassing the rooms of House Duskryn's nobles. And now the green-eyed half drow was standing here, fidgeting and wide-eyed like a frightened child might be.

"I found correspondence of relevance, my lady," Yasrena said with contrived calm, her hands behind her back where they undoubtedly being wrung with a furious nervousness. It was an unusual sight to see the normally stoic spymaster so apprehensive.

"That's very interesting," Siniira said dryly. "The identity of our culprit if you will? I am not in a mood to be trifled with."

Yasrena forced a swallow. "The letters were in Mistress Valyne's study, my lady," she said tentatively.

Siniira rounded on the male drow and grabbed him by his hair. "Give me the description of your accomplice!" she snarled. Displays of temper were exceedingly rare from the normally cold and calculating woman, but when she was enraged, Siniira could be akin to a force of nature.

"R-ring!" he stammered out. "Silver ring with a red stone. Never seen anything like it."

Siniira dropped him abruptly and slammed her fist against the table he was lying on with enough force to crack bone. "Show me the correspondence," she whispered harshly, holding out her other hand to Yasrena.

The room was as silent as the grave while Siniira read through every page of painfully familiar handwriting, her heart tearing at the end of every new line of treachery. It was a scheme worthy of the most ambitious of priestesses. "I don't believe it," she said softly, gray eyes empty when they looked up at Yasrena. "I..."

"It matches all the evidence I have acquired, my lady," Yasrena said quietly. She carefully omitted the fact that some of it had been provided by Zesstra. She had no wish to make an enemy of the future Matron. Zekatar was a simpleton if he thought Lirayne could run the House.

Siniira crumpled the papers up in her hands and then let them fall helplessly to the ground. "And in the face of evidence, justice triumphs over mercy," she said quietly. "Do what must be done. I wish to be alone." The Matron retreated to her silent quarters to grieve and think.

Yasrena sought her out a few hours later with report: Valyne had allowed them to lock her away on the charges in a sort of stupefied silence. And so Siniira steeled herself to the task ahead and went back down to the dungeon to confront her youngest child. She couldn't recover her icy persona to protect her vulnerable feelings. Instead, as she allowed the stairs to lead her deeper into the House's lower levels, she reflected back on the days when Valyne had been just a babe in arms, a sickly little thing with a sudden, happy giggle and a beguiling smile.

All those days she had spent recovering from her own wounds she also spent with her infant, forging a connection that few drow matrons were allowed to form with their children. She remembered the awe of how small Val's tiny hands were as they clutched at her fingers, the way she could tickle a foot and earn the most lovely laugh in the world.

A stop at iron bars and a look at the rigid figure behind the bars brought her back to the present. "Valyne."

"Matron," Val said quietly, looking up with wounded eyes. Yasrena had been terribly explicit in the crimes she was to be punished for and none of them were her own. But with the evidence stacked against her, she dreaded what was to come. "I suppose you're here to tell me how disappointed you are in me? How angry? Zekatar already stopped by to gloat."

Siniira leaned against the bars and let the silence stretch on for a few moments before speaking. "I don't believe it," she said again. The hurt was so deep that it had slipped right past her mind and headed straight into the depths of her heart.

Val let out a sigh of relief, her anger fading. "I swear to you that it's a lie. Please, Matron, let me free."

"What if I'm wrong, Valyne?" Siniira said bleakly. "What if I doom our House by giving in to wishful feeling? The House surely believes you to be guilty. What if I let you free and so everyone thinks they can collaborate with our enemies unpunished?"

Val sprang up and went over to the bars, her hands clenching around the frigid iron. "I'm innocent, Mother. You know I would never betray us to anyone."

Siniira touched her daughter's hands, eyes burning with unfamiliar tears that threatened to fall. She couldn't remember the last time she had even started to weep. "My beautiful little girl...I'm so sorry." She turned and walked away.

Valyne fought the choking rage in her chest to a standstill. Siniira believed the evidence. Or maybe she didn't, but her hand was forced. Someone had orchestrated this, and when she found them, they'd be hung by their own entrails. She felt her veins start to burn and stepped back to calm herself.

"Kalzar was very helpful," Zesstra said, stepping out of the shadows. She smiled at her seething younger sister. "And the Matron? I think she's a broken woman now. It's easy to kill someone who doesn't want to live, so I wouldn't hold out for a delayed pardon if I were you."

Val snarled with demonic fury and hurled herself at her sister. The bars slammed into her torso and her arms, abruptly halting her. Now she could feel the magic warding that was really the thing keeping her penned in. "You'd better hope I never get free of this prison, Zesstra," she said in a low voice, barely keeping the growl down in her chest.

"Actually, you'll be dead. So I have relatively little to worry about," Zesstra said brightly, clapping her hands together with satisfaction. "Lirayne has something special planned. The Matron undoubtedly will want you exiled rather than killed, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"I have a knack for surviving," Val said in a low voice.

"Not things like this, I'm afraid." The priestess practically preened, reveling in her arrogance. "Did you know that your lover betrayed for a chance at a higher position? I thought it was a nice touch."

Val bared her teeth in a smile that nearly smoldered with hatred. "You'd better watch your back, Zesstra. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

The priestess took a half step back, then shook herself free of the fear in an instant. How undignified. "Brave words from a dead woman."

Her younger sister's response was just another silent, ferocious smile.


	23. Inquiring Minds

"We've given her all the evidence she should need, including confessions from multiple captured spies, and I've had to account for every minute of my existence over the last few months. What the hell is she waiting for?" Zesstra fumed, arms crossed as she leaned back against her desk. "At least Kalzar knows when to keep his mouth shut-he's maintained that he knows nothing."

"Because he knows he's complicit in it and Siniira would torture him to death. No female is worth death to that man," Yasrena said dryly. She was here along with Mourndar to advise Zesstra, since they were both knowing accomplices to the plot. "Valyne is Siniira's favorite child. Of course she's going to exhaust every possible avenue. Fortunately, I've been able to provide you with alibis."

"Seeing Valyne stew is at least satisfying," Zesstra muttered.

Yasrena gave the priestess a sharp glare. "I told you to stay away from her. The last thing I need is your need to bask in your own glow bringing all of this down on our heads. We have enough of a problem already."

"And that is?" Mourndar asked, forgetting that he was better seen than heard as far as the spymaster was concerned. Yasrena was far more conservative in her values than Siniira.

The half drow looked at him with distaste. "The Matron has called in a favor owed by certain members of the Church. An inquisitor will be arriving. If they find Valyne free of deception, she'll be regarded as innocent. And no one lies to an inquisitor."

Zesstra pulled in a deep breath. "That is...problematic, considering she's innocent."

"Very astute," Yasrena said, her tone laced with bitter sarcasm. Further cutting remarks were cut off by a knock on the door.

"Mistress Zesstra, the Matron requests your presence in the audience hall," a guard called through the door.

"No time like the present," Mourndar muttered as he followed his sister and Yasrena out the door and through the corridor. They all had to hope that the inquisitor would somehow fail, else they might have snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. What had been a very solid plan was becoming very, very precarious.

Valyne had already brought in and was a defiant figure despite her chains, jaw set stubbornly with her burnished steel eyes hard and sharp. She didn't move a muscle to acknowledge her sister or the others. Instead, she was focused on the Matron and the male drow wearing the crimson sash and dark armor of an inquisitor.

The inquisitor was a lean, lantern-jawed male with ruby eyes and an expression fixed into a displeased frown. He strode down the steps leading up to the Matron's throne and stopped in front of Valyne. Lirayne and Zekatar were already there, watching with relish as well as a certain hawkish awareness. Everyone had heard stories of what the Church's secret police were capable of, but few had seen them in action. Some, they said, even had the ability to erase their presence from the minds of others and thus were invisible while in plain sight.

"Will you submit to this examination?" the male drow asked.

Val nodded. "Go ahead," she said quietly. She'd spent more than a week imprisoned, considering all the different ways she wanted to maim and kill Zesstra. She knew it was her sister's pride that allowed this to come to light. The anger fed her connection to the Abyss and weakened the barrier, though she hadn't bound for nearly a week and was beginning to feel the strain. Like a sober drunkard passing by a tavern, she felt a craving in the scratch of her throat and the ache of her head.

The male drow concentrated and Val felt something alien slide effortlessly into her thoughts. Her carefully constructed walls came down in a torrent of fury and...hunger. He flinched back reflexively, grimacing at the pain that came with such searing and powerful emotions.

"I sense a great and gnawing evil," the inquisitor said aloud, voice trembling slightly from the strain. It was as if the drowess had a dozen minds all coming together in a kaleidoscope of emotions and motivations ranging from serene altrusim to unrepentant cruelty. "Surrounded by lies, façades. It grows like a cancer. Hatred strengthens her and hardens her to vengeance. Her mind is too dark and twisted for me to see the center of the lie-she is accustomed to hiding it from the world-but I can see that she fears what it is making her become."

Siniira was not wholly surprised. It echoed her own experiences: the care Valyne took when meeting with her, the something that could never be spoken of. She didn't believe it was treason, but the law of drow justice was that one remained guilty until proven innocent. Drow paranoia allowed for no less.

The male drow shook his head fiercely, investigating mind withdrawn from Val's. The strain of trying to piece things together in some places and untangle them in others had drained him considerably. The depths of her mind reminded him more of a yochlol's than a drow's. It left an abyssal shadow slow to fade from his thoughts.

"I find no evidence to exonerate Lady Valyne, Matron Mother," the inquisitor said, straightening his shoulders. "Furthermore, I would call her a very dangerous individual. Perhaps as all drow aspire to be."

Siniira looked pained and lowered her head. She grieved that there was nothing more to be done. Every possible avenue to excuse this supposed crime had been traveled. Perhaps the greatest success of this framing was the fact that she sensed Valyne's innocence but was unable to act. "Thank you, Inquisitor. You are dismissed. And please, convey my gratitude to Revered Yvonnel."

The Matron flexed her fingers, aware of gleeful eyes on her. Neither of her older two daughters would be shedding any tears for their younger sister and it infuriated her. She had no evidence that they were responsible, of course, but one didn't need evidence to mete out penalties. She looked up, stone faced and dry eyed. "Valyne, you are hereby exiled from House Duskryn and Menzoberranzan. And if you are innocent of the charges arrayed against you, may the Spider Queen guide you back to favor," Siniira said. She had to hope that her daughter was strong enough to recover from this crippling blow and become the stronger for it. Perhaps Lloth had chosen this fate for her child for a reason.

Val bowed her head as if to acknowledge she was accepting the punishment, just as she had accepted so many orders from her mother. In a way, this almost felt like another of Siniira's challenges designed to make her stronger. Exile was a reprieve compared to the usual punishment of death, though she felt at a loss when she thought about leaving the only home she had ever known.

"Zekatar, you will take a contingent of guards and escort her beyond the city walls. And when you have returned, I will deal with the rest of you," Siniira said, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she looked towards Zesstra and Lirayne. Many would feel the full force of her displeasure in the near future as she exacted her own vengeance on those likely to have had a hand in Val's fate.

The grizzled Weapons Master, still smiling ever so slightly, bowed deeply. "It will be done, my Matron."

* * *

Kalzar knew he was in trouble when he saw Valyne being escorted to meet him and his men by Zekatar. And really, what else could he have expected? He'd been monumentally stupid to accept Zesstra's deal. But he'd thought it was an opportunity, something that might make him consort material. And now everything had gone wrong. The soldier realized now that his fatal flaw was not being as intelligent as he thought he was. But that was cold comfort when faced with a woman who'd been good to him and paid the price for it. Her gray eyes were cold when they glanced at him before returning to a point fixed in the distance.

"I didn't know," he said hoarsely as he fell in step beside her. He was probably walking her to her death too, alone in the wilds of the Underdark with no food or water or weapon beyond the chains that held her at each wrist.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Val asked. Her tone was almost bored, a wall to hide behind that isolated her from the hurt of betrayal. "It's funny, isn't it? To think I trusted you, I mean."

"Val, I-"

"Don't waste the breath," she said bluntly, cutting him off. "Nothing you can say will undo this. You had your chance to tell Matron Siniira about the plot. They say actions speak louder than words, not that you were saying any."

Maybe it was cruel, she reflected as she watched him flinch and avoid her gaze. But instead of dwelling on it or bothering to feel guilty, she soaked in the glittering lights and palatial estates that formed Menzoberranzan. This might be the last time she ever saw it or breathed in its crisp, cool air. She'd never realized how fond she was of the wide avenues around the noble houses and the buildings themselves that blended so cleverly with the natural cave formations. The smells of vendors cooking food and serving wine or selling perfume wafted to on the cavern breezes, conjuring up an ache in her chest. She promised herself that she would return someday.

Kalzar stewed in his own thoughts. She was right-if he wanted to undo this, it meant action. It meant biding his time until he could help give Zesstra her comeuppance. Maybe there would never be that spark between them again, but he had said he was her man and meant every word.

After some hours, Zekatar stopped at a desolate place in the tunnels beyond the city walls and unlocked the chains binding Val. He gave the female drowess a shove that pushed her off her feet and made her fall forward, stripping her departure from her old life of any dignity. "Enjoy the wilds, Valyne," the grizzled old man said. He tossed a long dagger next to her. "Just in case you want to make it easier on the wildlife and slit your own throat."

Val picked herself up and spat on his polished boots. She would have aimed for his face, but she doubted her aim. But she didn't dignify it with an answer and watched them walk away, head held high. She would remain a Matron's daughter and stay defiant to the end no matter the cost.

She brushed her thumb over the ruby stone of her ring. This was an end, but it was also a beginning. As long as she remembered where she'd come from, she would know where she was going.


	24. Epilogue

A smile turned up the corners of angelic lips. Revered Yvonnel slid a polished onyx piece across a square on the shelza ir board and then leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. "You play a long game, Siniira."

"Patience comes with age," the Matron Mother said, her gray eyes solemn as she regarded her ivory pieces carefully.

The game was of two masters carefully considering each other's plays. For every attack, there was a counter. For every spy, a watchful eye to catch them. Strategies unfolded and collapsed over the course of hours, their only respite conversation. A few glasses of wine didn't hurt either, with the quality of House Duskryn's reserves.

"It's a great risk, pinning all your hopes on one little piece," Yvonnel said.

"She will survive. She will be better than I am," Siniira replied as she moved a piece in response with a soft click. Her confidence was as effortless and unshakable as her faith in the Spider Queen. "Someday she will sit here, wearing this crown, all the stronger for the darkness."

"I remember the day you came to House Duskryn, lost and alone. A lowly slave worth nothing to anyone. But you had that special something that allows some to rise like a shooting star while others fall by the wayside," Yvonnel said. She smiled. "You see it in her too, don't you?"

"Zesstra will be destroyed by her pride and Lirayne by her vanity. Neither of them are Matron material. Nor is Valyne now. But someday..."

The priestess steepled her fingers as she examined the board. "In darkness lies opportunity. Let us see what comes of this move of yours and history will be the final judge."

* * *

**The End.**

Thank you SO much to the people who reviewed. The story will be continued, have no fear.


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